Paris
In winter, nothing gives.
The tree holds tightly to
its fistful of sky
while the wind arranges
and rearranges
some leaves
at the entrance to the Tuileries,
always seeking
a different disorder.
First published in NOON: Journal of the Short Poem, Issue 14, August 2019, http://noonpoetry.com/issues/
Copyright © Alan Ireland | Year Posted 2020
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