Reflections

It is autumn outside the thin skin
of glass I stare through to see
a single leaf drift down
from its mother tree, leaving
her bony skeleton shivering
inside a frigid breeze
while her thin, barked arms
stretch heavenward in sorrow.

She will die now for a time, bough-bent,
naked against winter's wrath
until spring brings life to her limbs.

And within my cocoon,
I consider my streaked reflection
in the pane, wondering when
autumn will find me, waiting
for that quiet tap on the glass
that says, "I know you're in there."