Today's poem is by John A. Nieves


October happens this way—
a quick heat fools the bottom
leaves greener while the top
leaves are already wreathed
in old fire.

On the sidewalk, the crowd
is jacketed, or not jacketed, either
whispering jokes or prayers.

There are no clouds, but
something about the sky
implies rain.

The papers fill with ads
for masks, people
with the urge to hide
in plain sight.

Crows become buzzards.
Slats disappear from ancient
fences. Memories dial old
numbers, find them disconnected,
call back anyway.

Somewhere just above
the horizon, the day moon
realizes it is naked, but
not dreaming.

A squirrel plants a tree
no one will hang from
but all the doors that promise
something sweet are still closed.

Copyright © 2014 John A. Nieves All rights reserved
from Curio
Elixir Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission

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