Feuilles Mortes

By Peter Halstead

Translation of “Fauchon”—after Verlaine

In Paris boutiques
for the past two weeks
the marrons glacés
balance and weigh
their techniques

where the flowery doors
of the candy shop drawers
are the lifetime fruits
of the deciduous roots
of our stores

the wrapping's on top
of our street's pastry shop
the sun a bouquet
like a lemon soufflé
or a child's lollipop

and the candied sigh
of the apricot sky
now comes alive
as the showers arrive
and die

our lives are apt
to come unwrapped
like the window display
where the windy fall day
is mapped

so the season grows old
its confections as cold
as the breeze
or like those lingering bees
who mimic the gold
in the trees