Maidenhair
Other trees drop them one by one,
while gingko spins green into gold
fans, grows scars then waits, mum,
until frost severs every yellow hold
in answer to the maestro’s baton,
lets loose a luminous rain up and down
the stunned coast at once, blanket of sun
under trunks, gilt jeweling the ground,
like pleasure reined in until the last
stroke provokes each muscle to give way,
toes uncurl, breath’s staccato fast and fast
unfurls the backbone’s wish to obey,
all sense undone in a single wave,
rise and fall eclipsing the grave.