Another first draft. Sharing with The Mag and trying to justify the prompt by substituting a car for the bike and a tree for a 'phone booth!

LEAVES

I’m bowling too fast around these rainy lanes,
as if this brief journey mattered only for
the red hearth left behind and the stove
and curtain shelter at the other end. Point

of departure, point of arrival and flickering
in between, the doppler shift of smeared
light and the four-wheel chorus crooning
the same old song of the road. Too easy

here and then here to race beneath these
leaning thickets, past these empty gateways,
up above these vertigoes of sheer perspective
rolling out to a mystery tree-line, beyond which

may lie hope of a steadier light or nothing
of light at all. Then, drawn by the flare, I stop
beneath a maple. High above me spreads a
shredded ceiling, all on fire in lithium red.

Each of these leaves is dying. Phloem choked;
a cork skin sealing the stalk from the green sap.
All around amongst the roots and husks,
the ruby tendrils close towards their centre,

each anticipating dust. But all this crowding
heat and light above, these burning leaves all
tipped towards their memory of where the sun
last shone. As I drive away, I’m seeing clearer,

breathing deeper. Sunsets, embers, blood and
leaves the moment before they fall bloom
crimson even as they pass. My heart, your heart
will beat in concert up to the last heartbeat.