close to grey architecture and autumn air,
jaded textures and silky sighs, drawn-out stares somewhere
flowing on my brow, a skimming droplet lets itself linger on the shelf
for when they speak about, i decode the birdsong along
hooked by patterns, the world is my fern
contrary to mirrors and night terrors, cleared fog and speared blogs
we row on a low sea, interlaced patterns of learned bliss
until the day peace will meet our rest