Ten-Finger Exercises

the tree from my window

Leaves of Linden in November

Yesterday the yellow
was high,
flapping, vibrant, full of light
even though already small in
numbers, growing precious.

Today, although the sky
is bright,
limbs are empty of all but dry
brown spinners, those wings
like tongues in pairs from which
suspend the seeds of life.

With a rush of dying glory
leaves like
ripened pears cover the grass,
hiding the dog’s tennis balls,
flocking across the lawn
in last hurrah.