Poetry · volume 1
Integrity
Silent autumn whisperAn octave lower and we’d have missed itThe rippling airTracing the folds of the hillsCold live we’ve known beforeBefore we chose our ways Pines resting, crunching under the heavinessOf our boots and our bondThat earthly spirit so easily scented, astrayWe hold it nearCareful to keep our lips sealedFor if we speak itIt disappears