I write to her in autumn leaves.
“You left something in the alphabet. ”
I am busy at my roots.
I’m not my good, unclean self –
the sun’s desire,
by chance.
Shadow autumnal mysteries with me.
The leaves will make me.
I write to her in autumn leaves.
“You left something in the alphabet. ”
I am busy at my roots.
I’m not my good, unclean self –
the sun’s desire,
by chance.
Shadow autumnal mysteries with me.
The leaves will make me.
