“in the street of the sky night walks scattering poems”
e.e. Cummings
October winds pursue. Night follows quickly
harrying my footsetps in gusts. Only a brown glass bottle
keeps pace, rolling down the gutter
noisy as a drunk.
An idle pack of leaves loiters at the corner
comes to heel as I pass, and just as suddenly
scatters. hurtling headlong, eager to reconvene
And in their wake, like struggling kites,
untidy trails of paper lift and fall
and fall and lift again. But one at least
is scrambled, up and out of sight.
As if encouraged by this plucky flight,
a plastic carrier takes one enormous suck of air
balloons above, escorting with it all the clutter
decomposing there.
As per the epigraph, in the Imaginary Garden, Sanaa has invoked as prompt the last line from Cummings’ “The hours rise up…”
PoetryPix 