~ by Howard Nemerov
Late in November, on a single night
Not even near to freezing, the ginkgo trees
That stand along the walk drop all their leaves
In one consent, and neither to rain nor to wind
But as though to time alone: the golden and
Leaves litter the lawn today, that yesterday
Had spread aloft their fluttering fans of light.
What signal from the stars? What senses took it
What in those wooden motives so decided
To strike their leaves, to down their leaves,
Rebellion or surrender? And if this
Can happen thus, what race shall be exempt?
What use to learn the lessons taught by time,
If a star at any time may tell us: Now.
We close the eyes before heaven, and are flabbergasted by the darkness. We seek the sounds, and picture them as answers, and draw them outside time ... to fit within a rhyme.