September Trees

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I take a late-night walk through the park, where
Trees are hanging in a frail parliament. 

They lean in for a late-night session
Their photocopied leaves are trembling 

At the thought of autumn alopecia.
I try to imagine the speed of tree-thoughts.

How long do they take to penetrate?
And are they articulated only 

By green or gradients of red and brown? 
I can’t tell, in the amnesia of moonlight.

A shopping bag is snagged by brittle hands 
And held up, beseechingly to the stars

That glaze the hardened September sky.




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