Autumn Leaves


they breed and transform

then sunder from its branches

now they lay to rest. 


© 2016 Liza Morales


Morning Rain


​the pitter patter 

against my window pane

is like a present spirit         

awakened by its sweet scent 

aromas rise from the concrete 

the Bronx smells differently


the rhythm of this rain

speaks a special language

the heart understands


through adjectives and metaphors

and varying intonations 

I inhale this morning’s poem

rain falls consistently

weightless and sure 

my day begins. 


©2016 Liza Morales