not my very first budding out,
but resting and growing, being full-sized,
soaking in the sun and the rain.
Then I folded, wrapping around,
cocooning for a green moon's time
while the grown fliers sang songs to us.
I remember waking, splitting open,
stretching my new leaf-wings wide
and taking off to join the singers.
I remember waiting for all my siblings
to wake and fly with us,
and when they did, I remember being told:
You'll remember this, your waking day;
it might be the first thing you'll remember.
But it isn't; almost, but not quite;
I remember being a leaf.