golden hour
a nuthatch pauses
partway down the trunk

riff
of radio jazz . . .
wren

autumn dusk
enough light
to count the leaves

leaf-fall
     my echo
           returns

old schoolyard
dark ivy hides
the “fuck”s

autumn sunset
the lit bellies on a string
of geese

orange sky
the cattle dog drinks
from my hands

how to tell
of the myriad rich browns?
pin-oak leaves

high school reunion . . .
we view the leaves falling
    in different ways

sagging totem pole
the tiny adze marks
in perfect rows