Looking through the blinds
at autumn leaves yet to fall, branches
up and down, up and down,
back and forth in front of our window.

Hear the planes coming to
SeaTac, or they are just leaving.

On the half-hour the 71
rolls down 55th out back,
rattling the windows here
in our new house. Yellow and orange bright outside,
and now dark, now bright under the streetlight
in the wind.

          There is a cat
next door, Toes. Watch, she runs
like a dotted line at night, white paws
alone at the edge of the driveway
as headlights hit.