They trim the trees, I eat leftover Chinese - Nov. 8, 2023

limbs crash leaves follow the downdraft

holes and gaps appear in the canopy

all that summer shade shredded for

the future fingers of a winter sun

fresh new light to invite

morning coffee and poetry

because a shivering hand

can’t write with emotions frozen

a poet needs to feel the letters

scale them like fruit

at the farmer’s market

touch then pick the best

unbruised but soft

whiffed for flavor