A Congregation of Wilted Leaves

A congregation of wilted leaves, winding to concrete.

They wisp and weigh that of a feather 

of a Robin's breast.

They flee through winds of Thursday and toss themselves

to the Eastern hills in an effort of depletion.

And they cling to my shoulder skin and left side cheek 

asking for a living home

because the oak

has stopped paying their rent.

Reviews

[.]

-- i don't know how you write closing lines that are so compelling... -- fantastic poetry... -- i especially love the specificity in "shoulder skin and left side cheek"... and the expression "living home" is particularly poetic...

[Cat]

I really appreciate that. Thanks for the review.

[.]

-- the privilege is all mine, monsieur... :)

[jacob erin-cilberto]

love the way this ends...the metaphor of not paying the rent...now they rest in a shelter for homeless leaves, and it is merely a cold ground with uncaring brown blades of grass...

[Cat]

Thank you for the review.

[terry smith]

Best fall poem I have read this year:)

[Cat]

Thank you very much!!