wind in maples the maple leaves are tiredtheir tips turned in to funnel the windthe wind that hasn’t quit for daysit’s exhausting – all that swayingall that noisethe out-of-control of it all they have been bowing down for hoursreaching for the moist earth for somethingto hold onto other than themselves in pauses between gustsI can… Continue reading Poem 178 – wind in maples