Evening Light
The trees undress slowly from the top.
Bare arms arc vainly into the sky. It is
Sunset. Orange skirts swirl in an awful
Dying light. The ground is littered gold.
I stop the scene with the shutter of my eye-
Stop and hold and mark- this blue, these reds
And holding greens- those rusts upon the ground.
I stoop and hold this one dry leaf.
It crumbles in my hand, and I see a picture
From the morning paper speak as if alive.
Five Turkish children killed by earthquake
Lie upon the ground, seemingly asleep.
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