Wednesday, December 17, 2014


Oxfordian Kissuth, "Autumn Leaves"

The trees are running with scissors, snipping off
their motley: leaves, spiraling down around ghost
maypoles, a centripetal dance. I kick them up and
back into the sharp wind. You may think it’s gusts
that make these dry palmate mudras fall, but they
grow to break—abscission in their cells, and mine.