Is it too much to ask?
To be apart of the ones who are remembered for the leaves they’ve picked off their own branches and presented themselves bare?
To pile them up like fallen flames of yellow, orange and red and dive into fire as a child who welcomes autumn?
To carry myself through curved tails that whip sensually as the wind of an approaching storm and feel the calmness settle?
Where an eye always seems to form and growl and snarl like a beast, is this the place we find ourselves most pure?
Like a cyclone ripping away the sides of a house, can you allow me to help rebuild a home that has been destroyed?
To understand the massive heartbreak and anxieties which lead us to carve a message in the post, will you do them same?
Or should I put it in a bottle and send it to the Atlantic where Neptune can cherish delicate art painted by both the mind and spirit?
Again, is it too much to ask?