wind winds its way through
the boughs, leaves shifting, tilting
across each other’s faces
the world slides back and forth
a pendulum beneath cities of trees
languid back, staccato forth
flip flops slap mossy stone
the wood matches his curvature –
matches everyone’s –
from hundreds and hundreds taking solace
in its calm rocking
hundreds and hundreds have sat down,
then stood,
leaving its spot for another.
a halcyon spot
a perfect spot
for one to see the spiral of leaves
as they fall from trees,
and then the rebirth of green
in the spring





















