I sit by my window
open to the wind
hardening nudity,
as winter comes
to us, confused.
What might happen next
little branch, to which I’ve grown
so attached?
I wonder if leaves ever want
to hear you say their name
even as they fall.
I sit by my window
open to the wind
hardening nudity,
as winter comes
to us, confused.
What might happen next
little branch, to which I’ve grown
so attached?
I wonder if leaves ever want
to hear you say their name
even as they fall.