Autumn Calls (a merged mirror cinquain)
swirl by in gusts.
A passing boy shuffles
through piles of fallen splendor now
branches snap; from nearby burning
pile, a smoky finger
curls and to me
a furrowed brow,
his rheumy eyes
his lifeó-- courage in a badge of
Return to the front page of this issue:
2, No. 2 Fall & Winter, 2003.
Go to the
Poets & Authors page for the poet's
biographical sketch and email link.
These poems are Copyright © 2003 by Cindy Sinsap.