Ginkgo

Leaves of the ginkgo
speckled with light.
He's in love with the woman
in the blue cap.

She strides through wind and rain
and sleet and snow to feed her horse,
and her hands have a strange intelligence
he hasn't mentioned because he

doesn't know how to describe it.
A sudden downpour, dead leaves
spinning down from the old iron roof.
A possum in the ceiling, diamonds

of light falling from trees
on a dreary afternoon.
They make love behind green velvet
curtains as day slips into night.

She may be the right woman and she may not.
He knows she's not.
Here comes the sad slot of dusk,
slipping in under the door.

They turn on the light, clasp each other
between damp sheets.
Outside, the camellia scrapes the window,
the day banks and turns, gliding into night.

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He wants the moment—this grey light,
the feeling that life has just begun
to last forever.
Knows it won't.