25 September – Daylight robbery

The first leaves to fly
are pilfered not fallen,
as a moody Friday wind
gustily breaks their fragile hold
and seizes them for itself.
Tossed up as well as down,
they flicker and wheel
like drunken sailor butterflies
at the mercy of contradicting currents
overwhelming their tiny wings.
I witness the crime,
caught in a snow globe
of stolen tree confetti
while the gasping, grasping gale
thieves my breath too,
and blows it who knows where.