07-09-2024, 03:54 PM
![[Image: 023c8c1d216182d42a4fa276c0049056.jpg]](https://i.gyazo.com/023c8c1d216182d42a4fa276c0049056.jpg)
Fifty four autumns... and five books, my heart beating open known deeply by few. Here and never seen, my small voice caught dangerous in my throat. Written scarce, scarce, left vacant and heard in part... I cannot write that:
. . .
All the things I love
do not mourn my passing yet.
I live, morning came.
The sweet summer leave
from all weighed vast on weak hearts,
speak true in quiet
to me, all things dear
lie amidst threaded fables
mourning moon light's by.
![[Image: cb9dd72403b90bae3d8fc519b5bd7c95.png]](https://i.gyazo.com/cb9dd72403b90bae3d8fc519b5bd7c95.png)