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!