The Trees Laugh

Early October

A new wind blows in from out of town somewhere
and sets the sycamores dancing. Their leaves flutter
like flocks of green birds rustling on the branches
and every leaf is the wing of a bird flapping. The cat

in the glass room stares up at the birds and everywhere
is a new bird landing. She slinks, little yearling lioness,
from couch to table to desk to table, yellow eyes wide
in that up-tilted head, bewitched by the spectacle

of birds, birds everywhere, everywhere she looks.
She does not remember last autumn, when the new
wind blew in and the sycamores started chuckling,
waving hello until they shook off those leaves.

She does not remember and so it is new, almost
more than she can take in, but look: a bird falls!
The cat freezes at the sight of prey and when
it lands, a dead curled leaf, she cries.