Leaves

It’s absurd to rake leaves after dark
Particularly in the rain.
Yes, I answered I know.

The rake filled my hands;
A warm, worn occupation.
The evening’s dark sank lower
Like a flimsy blanket of moths,
A swarm of foreign whispers.

Leaves lay in resignation
Around my feet.
I asked each one if it had enjoyed
A satisfactory season?
Their answers were damped
By smoke languidly
Spiraling from the chimney.

The trees didn’t seem sad
To have lost so many
blood relations.
Still the eternally poignant air
Of Autumn moved me to wonder.

Absurd, I thought, to think
Of you as a family,
To confuse cellulose with protein,
Sap for blood,
My god for yours.

I looked up then.
So many lofty branches
Touching unselfconsciously,
Embracing in gentle exchange,
Mutually sipping the pid-pad
Of rain.

I had to ask
Will you tower over me
At the twilight of my season
And enquire
‘Was that a satisfactory life?’