Leaves
There's nothing left of Autumn but the leaves
They swirl and scatter, meet, then disengage
The moon shines silver footlights in the sheaves,
transforms the marble court into a stage
She draws the curtains when she starts to feel
there's nothing left of Autumn but the leaves
and when they part, the scene she sees seems real
as do the silent dancers she perceives
A clever wind plays fiddle in the eaves,
while brittle ballerina's pirouette
There's nothing left of Autumn... but the leaves
still dance for her tonight, in silhouette
The figures in the cast are what she chose,
those figments of the past her mind retrieves
and when the show goes dark at last, she knows
there's nothing left of Autumn but the leaves
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