Three short poems

deep into autumn

This is how

far we’ve come 
to not need 

to speak. What’s 

between us—
the red and 

yellow leaves. 


*

Trace the seam

where the rain 
turned to snow

at the brink 

of night—streaks
of white en-

graved in blue.


*

The first snow

levels out 
the noise in 

mind. Open

the window—
blinding white 

breathing through.

Note: These poems are in a form Cid Corman devised. Each poem has seven lines, and each line contains three syllables.