We're making this place a Fire

Every day,

is the place a Fire?
Air's so dry and still,
Trees would sound like a Thunder
if they were to fall down.

Hundreds of feathers feathering down

Hundreds of feathers feathering down.
Each leaf covering the floor

I lift

as sharpening my awareness
The branches remain beyond reach
I pile all leaves on my palms
Trees are lightening their borders
and I am possibly just wasting time.



I will bury all of them leaves
tracing a full circle on the ground.

Everyday

Everyday They Fall,
Everyday They Rise.
Their pace.
Slow to the point of Dread.