Time's hands are on everything—
After the fall of a hundred Japanese
red maple leaves, winter dressed
the shins of trees in snow.
At a distance, he sees the sun slip
the circle of its yellow eye, open
and traversing a winter-cooled sky.
With dark creeping
like a suspect all across the city,
night's promised to mourn
in the powdered face of dawn.
2015 © Maureen E. Doallas
All of the above are found poems, their inspiration a recent TweetSpeak Poetry post "Top 10 Street Poems".