advance advent

the undecided november wind hums
as it passes through the wrought-iron coils
of the wide and viny mirror leaning on the dresser
that rests anxiously against the windows,
one of which has its lips slightly parted
to let the outside in.

one hundred leaves falling at a time
with each gust
that startles me when it sings into the room,
sounding like the squeaky brakes
of the donut truck as it turns at the end of the block.

this grandiose feat to shake the very life from the trees
is hostile to snow and to uncovered fingertips
(there's only the cold, with nothing good to show for it)
and the thinkers surmise that change is coming,
in their superstitious way,
swirling together wind and life into a sweet or lethal mix
similar to arsenic and orange cream smoothies

fear not, for the race is almost won
(this is what the wind told me once, forcefully)
for these leaves mulching the lawn are as sweet
as summer,
filled with lemons and sugar and the promise
of the shimmer of moonlight on the crust of the snow
in the depths of winter, the deep of darkness:
waiting now, waiting only
for the light that the darkness has not overcome.