In Leaves

by Kathleen Kraft

in their lingering glow, 
I arrive as an opening— 
yearn to gather their gold— 
raise what I can, hue and vessel, 
in acts such as these. I seek
the movement of the highest 
branches, their excitement 
in the wind—lightness is mine. 
Oh burnished leaves fluttering 
like aged hands, patient on the bough,
stiffening as the hours fall—