how great would be
the emptiness above
the yard if it weren’t
for this walnut-tree
you say
this may be
the last warm night
this year so in silence
which is sifting into the conversation
with presentiment of forthcoming
travel and winter we are listening
to the wind husking
the dead leaves of words
it topples them down rustling
in a slanting fall
on the pad of
moonlight mixed
with thin clouds
the emptiness between the fractal
branches is becoming more and more
visible