Fall

the last leaf of the japanese maple
fell today
its ruddy body
laying on the grass:
how brief the green season
how silent its passing.

in stillness I bent down
touched its roughened edge
the memory of longer days
flooding me with light and longing

does the maple
dream of spring?
its leaves unfolding their prayers
for another season rooted
in the dark soil of my yard

or is it only I
still restless with desire
that resists the coming winter?