the wind
gusts sideways and back,
raining leaves down
on the concrete
and dragging them in circles
and patterns
and their dry scuttle,
like a dance devoid of choreography,
their minuet with the spirits
fitful and hesitant until
they fall from the breeze, stick
in between the crevices of benches
and the cracks of sidewalks,
dry and crunching beneath her feet.
she stands on the sidewalk
looking down,
but she is seeing something
so far away from this place.
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