fall, a poem
the sun warms the eucalyptus and the scent of its fallen bark is like un-sugared perfume.
it’s rust and foggy.
these days, I want to be wrapped in linen.
no matter the wrinkles it gives in.
each crease like a trophy from the day’s triumphs.
nightfall in autumn, the most beautiful of times.
the sun slowly setting earlier each day.
nights longer, filled with life and warm bed sheets.