worry

one day it will be winter.
i know   i know     who wants
to hear about that sort of thing

with it so far off still. i
watch the one cherry tree
behind us scrubbing its dead leaves

away in the rain. i watch
those dull leaves dropping, like
scales, to the rough patio slabs

before flushing out of sight.
there are so many trees,
with so many brown paper leaves

falling, a few from each tree
at once, easing toward that
final, altogether falling.