I have dreams about your softness
and I'll write about my jealousy
while I’m kneading the sleep from my eyes
kneading bread on the counter
kneading my tired heart

The days fall through me bruised and orange
and my feet touch nothing but Nevada red dirt
does summer come with brakes
or must I shade it all myself?

July was deeply Yuba blue
Reflecting everything white and berry tone
I only saw through it in time-lapsed clouds

August burned through the soles of my feet
orange and red and scorching

But September has come yellow

The poppies faded
yellow

The grass drowned in
yellow

The maples turning
yellow

So I will sit in my own golden California
watching time as colors
and willing Autumn brings kindness
until October comes purple

On the 6th day of October was when it broke.
Twelve pieces of eyelashes,
a chip off her favourite mug,
an old cashmere sweater with one moth hole,
a single earring on the floor,
the skin of her lips lying next to it,
and one broken heart, damaged, but still beating.

My name has been written
in a piece of letter,
waiting for me
to come
for a warm conversation.
I was lost...
I was swimming into the imagination
of the melancholy.
Leaves were embraced in the street.
It was autumn.
That tree has got red hair...
In her hair, I found a photo.
I found you memory.
I looked back on the portrait of
that girl with red hair.
Her hair was a leaf from that tree,
waiting for other leaves for company.
It was her...
the girl who waits for me.