A Continuous and Exhaustive Celebration of the Shift in Seasons, Amen

Working on a final project for poetry class. Poems about... places and things, mostly. These two here await a third, as yet unwritten.

Post Meridian

a bride is blown
by the wind
in the park
tree branches
creak
the sun
beams

a breeze
lifts the veil
gathers cloth
at the knees,
pulling up
a cloud of
soft, heavy hem

a gust of pigeons
ascends,
a flapping sheet
of molding grey
hovers low,
then a rush of air
beneath wings

splits the seams,
beams burst through,
birds on the hem
the wind carries

Eventide

Shots did not ring out, but sank
did not sing, but ate holes

in the talk on the street,
emptied voices into a second’s

static. The roar of the ear
cupped in a seashell of air

gasped out the barrel
so quickly, the house went

slant with red and blue flashing,
the block squared with yellow

tape to echo the sound.
Ground triangled and circled

in chalk, lines of salt about
where the slugs stuck on falling.