The day after that, he carved another.
It had never been more than a hobby; a craft passed down to him by his grandfather, who carved and painted all ... [+]
Who can walk today
when leaves leapfrog across the boulevard
and swirl recklessly round each passing car?
My feet dance across the sidewalk,
exploring invisible hopscotch trails
like errant children,
crunching gutter drifts
in explosions of sap-dried
skeletons of summer.
Can't you feel it,
the racing pulse of October?