a poem by Anita

I cannot move
footprints besiege me.
I’m moved by memories.

Empty oysters
lie, sunken in low beds
their harvest trickling
down my eyes.

Love unfriended, loitered
looking here and there
for love.
Unfruitful. Unfortunate.

The wasted waiting,
a solitary autumn leaf,
watching. Waning.
Falling. Finishing.