Famished Wind

Her strong fibrous fingers pulled the amber leaves off the sycamore

tree in a matter of minutes. They curl underfoot, and crush and crunch

like cornflakes. I study the clouds, piece by piece, skein by skein every

scrap of sky is examined. Has anyone else ever felt cutout of the picture,

sidelined and overlooked. Immersed in memory, I awake early and try

in vain to rebuild my mind. Fragment by fragment, one thread at a time.

A woven golden cloak on the ground.