Motion of a Fall

Leaves no longer held-aloft by their deciduous vaults Clutter gutters and breezily sweep streets and rest On right and left road sides, bright and red. Tunnels formed by old trees meeting arc Across city-streets and campus-sidewalks. The bright red light shreds right Through the quasi-dismal damp Fog and is mirrored in the ditch’s bog. The yellow is less aggressive, More slow to say “hello, Nomad, pause your show of bursts Of fabricated steel and what is unreal.” Trees colored green recollect when They were tenderfoot, preempting The Fall of unawakened Autumn, But tend towards following their peers. Leaves stand in the back of a room, Stand in the forefront of the meteorological gloom And trickle their color onto the gray Sidewalk once bland and wet as the sky, Now leaf-littered and shimmering with glances of upright reality; Colors whet on the watery walkway By flattened leaves and reflections of trees.