Friday, August 31, 2012


I love watching wind
nudge leaves off trees
so red and orange sails
can glide through crisp
chilly air with furtive flits
that prolong their descent.
Eventually they bounce
upon deep green grass
like children jumping
into their parents' bed
way too early
on Saturday morning.
I cannot stop missing my sons.

The Broadkill Review (a print-only journal) - August 2012

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