These Trees
An exclamation point of crimson
at the end of our street.
I can't pass without gasps,
Then walk two blocks
to stand beneath
their strange bright light,
kicking the crispness
of their fallen leaves,
wanting to close their
brilliance in a jar,
so any day
I could hold it to the sky,
bright against blue,
and swoon.
Sadly,
I can only
snap a picture,
this temporary treasure
tucked snug
in Fall's back pocket.
-Tia 11/1/11
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Ann