I feel so tired
I can barely breathe
My chest is concave
Like the narrow dell
Soaking up the rain
And pulling in the leaves

And though I’m not hollow
I am not whole
And though I’m weary
It is not my soul
Which cries aloud
Unto the the trees

Except for your sound
The sound that is
Of when you sing
And walk beneath
This canvas of leaves
Free as your feet

But the soles of my shoes
And the lids of my eyes
Are now heavy
As my head it lulls
And wants to roll
Back to the ground

So my pillow now
Is underneath
The hooded wood
And as the world
Slowly closes round
It’s you I see

Within the leaves
Beneath the trees