Tuesday, April 23, 2013

Upon Walking to Lot 6

I follow a brown leaf
maple on the wind
he scurries
the maple leaf follows
the wind I follow
the maple leaf
tasting the crunch
he would whisper
if the wind let my
foot catch him
his jagged dance
just before me
he dances with
the wind scratching
the pavement a jig
with the wind
in his jazz shoes
the wind follows
me but I do not dance

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