Tonight all the leaves are paper spoons in a broth of wind. Last week they made a darker sky below the sky. The houses have swallowed their colors, and each car moves in the blind sack of its sound like the slipping of water. Flowing means falling very slowly— the river passing under the tracks, the tracks
Wayne Miller is the author of The City, Our City (Milkweed Editions, 2011). He teaches at the University of Colorado Denver, where he edits the literary journal Copper Nickel.