By Kira Cordova

Despite the haltingly unbalanced heat,

crinkled paper lunch bag oak leaves retreat

under benches, where the sidewalks deplete

deciduous umbrellas. My shoes meet

miniature carbon mountain ranges, neatly scattered, waiting, breathlessly discrete,

for a childish human gust to unseat

them suddenly from the scalding concrete,

so I dance through the leaves like a little kid!