Panicked and Tense

Imagist poetry, the type of poetry I seem to connect with more often than not, demands that the poet  “use the language of common speech, but to employ the exact word, not the nearly-exact, nor the merely decorative word.” I wrestled with finding the exact words this morning. Perhaps I need to revisit the words I share below. What do you think?

County Route 517

The yellow leaves
flash like sparks

when the thrumming cars
pass, panicked

and tense, sweeping
them from the black

pavement
into the cool air.

The red leaves
erupt like fire.

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In part, inspired by a WordPress prompt.

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