By Natasha Devalia
Branches lean into each other
forming an archway
for us to amble through,
holding hands as we do
beside the still lake.
Yellow leaves spin;
as the wind offers
a moment of weightless hope,
they whiz by
before the soft landing.
We peer into each other’s eyes,
to seek the deepest mystery of all,
searching for perfection,
that which we find
is our own reflection.