You say we should build
A pile of leaves to jump
Into, to toss up in the air
And hear crinkle as we roll

Over them and down
The hill. But it rained
Yesterday; or maybe it was
The day before, when we

Heard the pitter-patter
On the skylights at dawn.
I think you’ll find
That the leaves are wet

On the undersides.
But this is a song
Of beginnings, and so
I rake a pile of landlocked

Fall waves into one
Precarious rustling mound,
And with your word,
Let go the earth, and fall.