never fails to excite me.with all the talk of leaves
here, falling, i am interested to see another breed
of folk that love and gather.
remind me of roseberry road, the younger days.
sat in the upper room, read his letter to his mum,
about the trenches, the first world war, wished
to drown his sorrow in that bloodied mud. the floor
tilted, a scrap lay crumpled.
each room has a different door.
we left, fell the last few steps.