*
Leaves fall
cathedral, oblique.
Did I just imagine
it all. And now
the bark falls
off the sycamore
like the flesh
off my bones.
My pastoral static
cryptic in the pyramids
of oak, ash and thorn,
the low weeping
tentacles, electric,
methuselah.
methuselah.
*
You folded your arms
like a mummy
and in 11 words
my silent ferris wheel
eyes
hung darkful over oceans.
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