Last Week for LeavesIt's raining leaves in the mountains,
a shower of crisped oaks and maples.
The children wander off,
searching for fallen logs and branches
low enough to climb.
Twenty years ago was such
an autumn as this
when all you could see was yellow
and the wind smelled slightly of decay.
Twenty years ago,
when a day was as finite
as a warm rock in October
and a vague desire.
Now here is this brown-eyed daughter
offering a bouquet of maple leaves
and boys jumping from rock to log,
kicking up whirlwinds of poplar,
sliding in a carpet of oak and pine and maple.
All we ever wanted
wrapped up in November day.