Autumn
And so Autumn blows a browning breath
Into the streets, around the tops of trees
And days of sea salt are mined into memory.
Arms and leaves start to fold,
But creation is a constant energy
About to be found
In dreams, on sheets, in sounds
While the soil sleeps under
Red bowed heads.
Into the streets, around the tops of trees
And days of sea salt are mined into memory.
Arms and leaves start to fold,
But creation is a constant energy
About to be found
In dreams, on sheets, in sounds
While the soil sleeps under
Red bowed heads.
LJ Ireton 2022
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