as clouds scuttle in the wind.
Gold leaves gild my vision
and spread brassy sound
round and round.
Some are descending notes lost
in the still green honey suckle
whose red berries will fly ostinato
over the low drone of winter
and the crack of white crust.
Then there is a chorus of paw paw
singing with yellow pellucid soprano voice
in the dark drum understory,
cymbals clash in suddenly bronze light
that quickly dims to subito.