Linden flowers

In spring, my mother
would send us to the park
to pick linden flowers for tea.

Today, sitting in the shade,
I thought I heard her calling,
but it was only a breeze.

All there is

Is it possible to add anything
to a life, to ensure no alley
is left unexplored, no mystery
unexplained, no new device,

no diversion, no distraction
to hurry us along toward
the end of it all, the last
deceit, the final jest?

Shall we die wishing for one more
object, a last lunch, an unread memo?
Shall we panic at the end, unready,
as if no one had told us about this?

The ancient oak,
tired of resisting,
drops its leaves

The last living leaves
Put their affairs in order
And jump into Fall

The air had an edge
Like a wind blowing over
The last of us all