I heard a leaf faintly land,
touching down on the forest floor,
the white oak
holding it cleanly
above the quarter-moon scars
of its crosscut planes.
In the room
where I sleep and love
and sometimes read,
this is all I heard.
I heard a leaf faintly land,
touching down on the forest floor,
the white oak
holding it cleanly
above the quarter-moon scars
of its crosscut planes.
In the room
where I sleep and love
and sometimes read,
this is all I heard.