Words
looking down from trees
branches and spotted pumpkin
leaves dusted
in flecks of gold and red
Letters
sleeping in the grass
their hooks and curves
are mixed
like long lost puzzle pieces
Speeches
running down the bark
like the amber sap
that we used to touch
and then we’d washed our hands
in the icy stream
Talks
murmuring our childish
dreams of flight and growing old
until the night would come on
and if sunshine had a sound
it would be this
