”
I need someone to tell me
what shapes my mind.
The light grows less, the more
I self-reflect, and currents within the laps of
my cave fall.
Does brutal air weigh down with a frost?
Does Autumn speak fewest lines?
What makes being grafted to our essence?
Not sure of roots but leaf and branch alone.
Life comes over us by foil and force
and thickening first then flays us to the
bone,
for death is its course, and our illusions
our own.”