brown oak leaves
finger the slender grass, deep with memory
poplar leaves in varying shades of ochre
pile calf-
and ankle-
deep
over the terraced deck
the pointed red stars of Japanese maples
plaster the sidewalks like confetti
after a parade
old trees—sycamore, maple, cherry and apple—
arching over
creeks and country roads,
marching up and down the hills,
strip in the breeze, holding onto
both gold and pennies,
sifting their treasure
in measured sums
my hometown in autumn
counts the years one leaf at a time—
meted memories,
dropped tokens of every forgotten summer
each leaf is one I’ve seen before, and one I haven’t
each one still holds the question
of spring
as winter begins to scrape
the branches, clutching
at the season’s last
leaves
and the furrowed sky
braids cold rain
into the
wind
Leave a Reply