He held his mother’s hand tightly
a toddler of three with skinned knees already
with spring just weeks old
skipping along the sidewalk, and
crouching down to look at a bug–
reaching again for mommy’s hand, pointing
with the other to the tree
he asked if leaves would fall in the spring.
Peering intently, watching with some anticipation,
and excitement–but she said, No, baby–
it is in the autumn that the leaves fall
but if you stand under a full moon
and listen for sounds of rustling, in the
middle of the night
you can watch poets fall from the trees
trying to get at the moon.