Leaves in the fall on the trees outside your mom's
Can't be improved, put to a tune.
But in writing them down, you can remember the sound
Of them hanging on after they're gone.
Out on the moor, there are ruins galore,
But I feel the drive of what's still alive.
Even the stone wall
Will fall, fall, fall, fall.
Only the green vine
Can climb, climb, climb, climb.
Chainsaw in the autumn, pinyon in the oven —
This could be ours... visible stars.
Square feet in a meadow, adding a shadow
Under the ridge, the sun comes right in.
The clouds coming and going —
I never really noticed
The forest with a browse line —
I saw it for the first time
After the aching and the burn out,
Maybe we've made it through the woods now.
The channel is wide but I see you try.
And I'm trying too, to find my way through.
Like a raven with a frog voice,
Raving in a fog slice,
Royal purple pond ice —
This is what it feels like.
The time between the diving,
Of a hungry sea lion,
A hay bale wrapped in plastic,
Smelling like strawberry chapstick,
White and orange gym shorts,
Longhorns storm the ball court,
Underneath a blue tarp,
Geodesic dome arch,
Crowded into the sweat lodge,
Crouched around the hot rocks.
Leaves in the fall on the trees outside your mom's,
Can't be ignored anymore.
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