by Chris Cummins
We breathe this season to cleanse the soul
Watching escape, a form without form is a
Cool, crisp symbol for passing.
Early December deafens the calls of life, its
Retreat evident in gray sky and hard earth
Begging to speak of green again.
In morning’s stagnancy, anomaly is found in you-
A leaf, dry and brown and clinging to creation.
With relationship tenuous in these waning hours,
My stare does not pull you from your prison
Nor invite a motion, a reason to descend.
I see your brothers in the covered stairwell
Trapped and trampled, thrashed by the wind.
Your sisters buried beneath sheets of ice
On the walk, finely preserved and forgotten, but
Persistence is with you finality
Shaping your fall for no one to see
Stirring the air invisible, and waiting.
I cannot stay though; we beings move
(this is our nature) for action seems the
Sign of actuality, even when our breath is still.
Chris Cummins lives outside Buffalo, New York and teaches high school English, creative writing and drama. In addition, he directs plays and musicals and teaches in a film academy, a multi-faced learning experience which includes script-writing, acting and video editing. Although his most recent work focused on the writing and production of two locally performed musicals, his first writing love is poetry. He’s been featured in Collateral, The Buffalo News, Heduan Review, Book of Matches, Literary Heist, Lotus-Eater, Aromatica Poetica, The Gilded Weathervane, Lothlorien, WordSwell, Goose River Press and other small presses.