One day the maple dropped sap,
another day, bud cases.
Seeds waved goodbye
all the way to the ground,
to leaves young and ripening,
leaves that made promises
as if summer never ended.
Of course, the maple filled with snow,
dripped liquid threads that froze near nighttime–
just days before the bees arrived,
nodded into the maple flowers,
into the cells of fallen honeycomb,
fragrant, caramelizing in the sun.