underfoot

once, sound was all above mebuzz of crickets, shrill cicadasshook the treesabsent nowinstead it’s the sharp crunch of insect bodies mixed with acornsbeneath my bootsthere’s old leaves tooone day they’re tree-bound and wind-rustledand the next day they show updown herethis transference seems fraught with some meaningthat’s beyond me like the warmth that slips farther away each dayI know it’s gravitythat does itbut it seemsmuch heavier than that*Words by TFD

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