My Mother Getting Older

My mother getting older sheds leaves
Like blessings of gold they flicker
In subsiding touches of sun
And turn to flutter in breath
Now warm, now abysmal.

Wind off the lake
Rises through valleys
Returns to dark gullies
To whistle in shale
Or play in our hair
And take blessings
As leaves to the air

She stands in her bark
Bearing the bends and quiets
Passionate, young and desirous
She stares out of clouds at suns
No older than her suns of five.