Poem

Poem

There is something that inherently attracts one to a dying landscape to crush a falling leaf, Red Orange Yellow Brown Beneath one’s feet, bundled up in boots To look out upon the fallow, yellow fields of harvested corn, The barns sitting, waiting, disrupting the horizon’s line in the sky to look up into defoliated branches of an apple tree, Searching for the last fruit of a year receding into a 6 month squalor in the snow Breathing in the air that is so cold it stings the back of your nose, Feeling rejuvenated As if absorbing the life leaving all things around you There is something that attracts me to this dying landscape, something that makes me want to keep living just to see it come alive, so it may die yet again

Lorin Bucur