My eyes red from night burn
Reflect grey early Sunday morning sky
Feeling good insideWith the death of leaves
World looks bigger then even man can destroy.
Red squirrel’s fur gather at the gutterFog circle porcelain sparrow
Wired to mulberry tree.
Across the way, in a rusted barrow
Burning wood and paper,
Flack grey ash flicker in air.
Black-ash flummoxed hands of newsboy,
Man’s hands inclement in flumeTo sell the headline of ourselves.
