The POM
Published in

The POM

Poetry

November Leaves

Just like that, they’re on the ground instead of in the air

Cat in a leaf pile
Polaroid image (photo by author)

Crunch and crackle leaf pile,
jump in autumn’s dry bed
Fire pops and acorns drop,
vegetation playing dead
The brittle rustle of once-green leaves
drifting to their place of rest
What once gave shade and cleaned the air
disintegrates into earth’s breast

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