The Old Men In The Leaf Smoke

The old men rake the yards for

Burning the autumn-fallen leaves.

They have no lives, the one or the other.

The leaves are dead, the old men

Only a little, light as a leaf,

Left to themselves of all their loves:

Light in the head most often too.

Raking the leaves, raking the lives,

Raking life and leaf together,

The old men smell of burning

But which is which they wonder &
mdash

Anyone tells the leaves and loves

Anyone left, that is, who lives.