‘
I used to know where they went,
all those leaves, starting to curl
upon themselves, some still green.
But does the leaf blower know
as he sucks and blows’hellip; does he
know or care where they come from
and where they go, as I gaze
out unsure of the world again,
above and around and below?
I used to play in them and wear them
like a world-stained wardrobe
of colors: red and gold, new and old.
At this time between autumn
and winter’hellip;I ask this because
I care, because I’ve come this far
to know. To know what this time
is called between the fallen leaves
and the first snow, when the leaves
know what it’s like to fall
unexpectedly one by one.
Blower of leaves, leave us alone.
‘
