The Leaf Pile

High among these branches,

autumn breezes dally

with the leaves, which crinkle

in the wind (like pages

waxed with scarlet-orange).


Overhead a sparrow

grooms her feathers, sheltered

by a leaf (discretely).


Gently I extend my finger

toward her creamy under-

side, but she – offended –

flutters off the branchlet.


My foot slips


and I let go




into leaves that smell like

mildewed, musty pamphlets,

drying sunlight, cedar

chests embalmed in balsam,

pots of potpourri…


The sparrow (disappearing

into the bronze horizon)

baffles gravity –


and in this soggy dirt where

earthworms wriggle, I wonder

why leaves (and people) are always

falling, never flying.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s