Fall

The begonia's succulent tubular legs

are exposed. It's red corolla

dips a curtsy to cover up knobby knees.

More petals fall.

The woman who lives next door looks up at her eaves. 

"What happened there?" 

I have watched from my window for years the sparrows 

build their hotel.

She wears a knee brace. Has let her long hair grow gray. 

She senses daylight dying,

like the maple trees with their leaves that have grown a fringe of rust.

There is a vacancy.