November 2: Shadow

The sunset shines
A yellow lit window
Copied on the wall
I sight read the shadows
Wiggles of leaves
Bob like notes on a staff
North a cumulus grey
Build up drives the wind
South toward the house
The leaves wave more frantically
The last chords of leafy branches
Cling and ring like paper kettle bells
A few leaves forget to play their duet
They embark on a merry march
To the ground ready. . .go
They play a lovely wind
Has come to blow
The race to the rake soon
The Right Hand in the sky
Will throw white wet happy
Pills to melt on my tongue-
But not today today
The leaves are making music on the wall.