THE GALACTIC SPIRALS OF DEAD LEAVES...I of IV
October is a gregarious month;
all things seeking shelter.
Watching the tidal ebb of twilight
drawing its last breath of birds,
I know winter is approaching;
Reversing the spin of planets
like baseballs, having arced since spring,
Gravity is returning, condensing,
like clouds in my eyes.
Twilight leaves the extremities
as fingers, cold to the touch.
Mothers walk, clenching the air
children’s voices cannot rise up over
Then, like a snow-globe shaken,
The elements of summer are preserved, like Amber
in the crystal flakes of the first frost, falling....
poem by John Tansey
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