Would you believe
There is a thing of dying
In the falling of the birches
And the roots that mangle the cottage path in summertime
There is a coldening a quickening
A closing of the wills
There is an ember of light that remembers
And a thing of dying that doesn't
The feelings grow older
The sun sets
The eyes exchange wonders
Snow falls birds sleep
Time pours
A sieve runs through the mind
And there are willows in the hollow vessel
Dying left behind
There is a thing of dying
A sieve runs through the mind
time catches in the hollow vessel
Dying left behind