the sun has left upon each leaf
a memory of itself, so they
will not forget the sweetness of the day
in the coming marathon of nights.
watch the trees on clear mornings
to see them make the wind -
they shake and they tremble,
or they sway like hammocks,
cradling summer within their branches.
there are apples rotting near the trunk.
before the first frost comes, they will be
memories, too - nothing but skeletons.
