double-sealed doors
it’s autumn
Category: forest
trumpet of the dead
I’m listening
felled on migration
the clouds in his eyes
in the pines
my ration
of moonlight
In the sun’s house
we saw for the first time what a complete absence of nuance would look like. How irresistible it would be.
insomniac eyelids on strike for overtime
snail chewing
on an empty snail shell
the autumn ahead
to each their own fall
rhododendron leaves
Two trains running
Trying to find the words for a rock oak on the mountainside…
end of summer
holes
in mushroom parasols
deep in the forest
a hummingbird scratching
behind her ear
the exact middle of nowhere
empty web
forest…
enough daylight
for an ant
