(An Autumnal Syllabic)
(C) R.L.K.
Suddenly it
is November:
just a few dank
leaves remaining,
sheening yellow.
You walk down an
old street you walked
down long ago;
the corner store
is boarded up,
and vacant lots
make up more than
half of the block.
It's strange how things
can change, strange how
quiet it is
now, strange how that
lone small cloud can
drift across that
enormous sky.
