from P.4 on Mon., Oct. 26th

Forest green
freckles of
grass tickle
each other in the
crevasses of
my tiny toes
as the wild wind
gusts against
my body.

I have to win the race.


-----


The cool breeze blows,
blows away any temptation,
towards any misguided
fortune that could be
found outside.

With the leaves crashing
down, we can only
sit on the windowsill
and imagine life past
these constricting walls.


-----


Where warm wood
cracks and shakes:
black, tan, and
grey tails.

The story ends as
it began.

Warm wood cracks
and shakes.