Air Traffic Control

Vanessa Burns

gold leaves,
solid and pure and heavy
fall against the thick
bouncy air and break it

past the like-skyscraper
in your like-backyard
grazing the rope of the
tire swing you never swung

airplanes to caterpillars and
traffic to moths
fruitful in ambition and lust
for the soil,

but the breeze had its own
agenda, and your pool
grew in compost.

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