Waking to ochre birch leaves
sinking in the blue undersea of dawn,
I swim in the same currents,
needing nothing.
Later I’ll forget this,
and mourn the end of autumn.
What’s left to be said
about being human?
Waking to ochre birch leaves
sinking in the blue undersea of dawn,
I swim in the same currents,
needing nothing.
Later I’ll forget this,
and mourn the end of autumn.
What’s left to be said
about being human?