sidewalk leaves
a concrete rush
before the weather
makes itself known

yet snowstorm need
no prologue from
cottonwood leavings
falling on last legs

i suppose i’m afraid
of seasons changing
like the cusp
of something wrong

then my coffee-warm
hand grips the cup
i handle what i can
handle at all

a foot or so
snow estimate
to measure the unknown
scheduled for tonight

all i can do is watch
from the sidewalk
as winds make the leaves
cross the intersection

so tidy and neat
a swirl of dead things
made to cross traffic
like proper pedestrians

j