So many fell this year
They formed a levee
Down the road crown;
Skittish squirrels
Drunk on the urgency
Of boundless foraging
Bound and leap
In arching acrobatics
Over bark, along leaf,
Forcing the fruit into freefall
Dropping like stones
Tropical rain
Brushed off surprised shoulders.
And as the wind whips
Whorling through the laden canopy
Boots below crush and crunch them
Kicking up a bow wave
Of desiccated oak fruit
Before
Caught in cleat,
Lodged in a turn-up
Tramped down the path,
They turn up far away;
Dropped off-handedly
Between a rusty tango can
And a lost, sodden mitten,
To rise, rise anew.
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