it was november it was raining just a little bit
of rain was powder fine glisten soaking
the frail pale length of the forest long dark
sleepily crisp in gnarled and in limbs
crooked elegent
the way was streaming(bent with treees)over
and a sprig of magic sharply
in my nape first creeping
through loam(worms)
my chest
worn of heart broken, i
through gnarled lengths of long sleeping trees
freshly said life
in the nicely dead forest
my heart(worms)creeping
through loam