In august heat crickets sing and feet force dust into air as we
Whistle through hot breezes, echoing
Foreign sounds that ring into the future.
In October fiery leaves fall from trees
And litter fractured sidewalks.
Our paths are great grey slabs of
We jump from this one to that
In colliding hop-scotch patterns.
We spin into the unknown, each life
Skimming the surface and sending
Ripples that are like radar waves connecting us.
Soft snow forms a
Barrier between our frozen worlds
And separates our paths.
The white quilt kept us warm
Until past voices
Fade and new ones merge with
Falling faces peer from windows
On planes, for stones that have been
Thrown are bound to
But now the blossom has
Fallen, as leaves of fire
To the same
Our chaliced flesh cannot