leaves
with his wife, before she died.
together,
they'd gather
them in piles
and place them in bags,
setting them
aside.
they were efficient.
spending hours together
in the fall.
their faces red,
the coats snug,
hats and scarves.
she'd bring out a hot drink
when done,
and they'd rest
on the green bench with
hardly a word said.
the afternoon sun at last
going down,
and now,
i look out and see him,
alone,
still at it
under a cold moon.
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