autumn storm

by Abner Dormiendo

tomorrow, they eventually
fall, gliding: leaves
off twigs, twigs off branches.
only the wind is strong.
not even the bark.


tomorrow, they eventually
wind down, spiraling.
a caterpillar rejects
what is red, rusting,
wet and rustling.


tomorrow, they eventually
wash down, wishing wells
they overlook with hollow
holes for eyes, dried twigs
for fingers: each leaf a nickel.


tomorrow, they eventually
fill, full to the brim, moon and leaves
spilling over. the rain remains
an answer. freedom is the prayer.
the wind is the language.


This is a little thing I’m doing now as a writing exercise. I take a tweet from the Horse_ebooks Twitter account and make it the first line of a poem. I’ll probably post more if I have more time.