“cake the walk,” version one

Little bits of leaves
cake the walk
stroll with me hand-in-hand
my hand trembles
a cold wind
rattles the bones of the trees
gust rats in hedges
dead leaves scurry across our feet
across concrete

sit with me
on a stone bench
a cloud drops earthward
straggles through the park
envelopes the duck pond
one mallard circles soundlessly
in the reeds his mate sleeps
head tucked deep in dull feathers

We stroll across the baseball diamond
you kick a clump of grass
the gravel patches crunch wetly
tepid red
I brush my unheld hand against the fence
the metal rattles
ringing faintly to the tip of the backstop

You point to a squirrel
in the overhanging oak
it’s gone, scampered out of sight
when I look up
I wrap my coat tighter
we stand apart, arms folded
read the little league sponsors’ painted advertisements
to one another

At the top of the concrete stairs
we embrace