damn you, fall,
your atrophying arboreal appendages
colonize my mind
every time i try to write
words like
crisp
scent
apples
amber
cool
dusk
breeze
rustle
harvest
haystack
chill
rake
march onto the page
and plant their autumnal flag
(which, much like that of our
northerly neighbor’s, depicts a
self-satisfied leaf).
leaves
these holy leaves
poetrystand testament
to the persisting existence of
pests
so i stand
organic pesticide
in my raised right hand
left clutching the hose
as i demand
billowing conviction:
LET MY VEGETABLES GROW!
after all the leaves have fallen
poetrythe sunlight hits the
ground in skeletal shapes
except one tree stubbornly
resists its leaves drops
of red blood shimmering
and quivering at the
end of the street staring
at you like a slap in the face.
the leaves turned
poetrywhen i turned
my back.
walking home
poetrya gust of
wind sets the
leaves above
rustling while below
the syncopated
scrape of
concrete.
as it set, the sun
poetryillumined
a tree of buttery
leaves
and something in it
reminded me
of our first
week.
this street is a painting
poetrybetween
6:25 and 6:48pm
this street is a
painting
as
sunlight falls
through leafy fingers
photons spilling
like grains of sand
into piles on the shadowy
sidewalk
i’m suddenly afraid
of where i step in case
the paint
should
smear.
the sieve and the sand 