yellow leaves
skate past
the patio door,
their desiccated
shapes fragile
and torn.
perhaps this year
i’ll let
november breezes
rake them away
from my buckwheat
lawn.
(mostly) short poems on life and love

yellow leaves
skate past
the patio door,
their desiccated
shapes fragile
and torn.
perhaps this year
i’ll let
november breezes
rake them away
from my buckwheat
lawn.
writer, dreamer, lover, seeker. labels never reach the heart of any matter, but they might be a place to start...