Friday, September 23, 2011

An urban autumn's song

There are no harvests
here. There are no boundless fields.
There are lonely plots
cornered by sidewalk and street,
fanned by the limbs and leaves, green
and not yet feeling
the fall. When they drop, they’ll drift
and pile, and mark the passers
by, too hurried to notice
a fall came without yielding.
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