My Picture: Leaves of Xinxiang.

The city was quite this morning, it was early.
Only the street cleaners in their orange vests
occupied the streets.
Gone from the woods and the world they knew.

A couple came along, turning
everything into itself.
She had an hourglass figure,
and argued everything.

As the last leaves fell from the trees
I thought, when the trees die
the birds go insane
and darker in the mind’s eye.