Leaves sail across chilled concrete slabs.
They rattle like etching glass.
As they move,
dictated by currents,
become slaves to the breeze.
A hollow, plastic ball tumbles;
echoing the emptiness of evening.
Wilting flowers,
once the essence of spring,
become the decay of fall.
Goosebumps erupt.
Teeth chatter like a lid under pressure.
The weak wall which separates the skin
becomes a useless barrier.
What we want is wasted.
Desire; too far for frozen fingers.
Calcified we claw.
Arthritic arms ache for answers.
Like the leaves,
we too,
are subject to the breeze.