Our hearts are such tender vessels, aware
of what feeds, withers and morphs it into a swelling sea
to marvel at, to puzzle over, to praise. When the blue
sky is magnificently bruised by Autumn winds hastened
by the chill breath of distant December we cannot help
but toss a glance over our shoulder to the fleet foot
of Spring, the tap root of Summer
and back again to leaves that spin as they descend-
plum and concord , persimmon and pear, rhubarb
dandelion, lambs quarters and magnolia vine.
The giant oak litters the ground, confetti tossed
by the tip of a shoe and the pleasure that two feet
on the Earth can bring.