Call me to the wind
and I will herd the shepherds in.
And floating leaves that crisp beneath my feet
will not wake me from my vividness.

I can see the room
that never left my gaze.
And I can hear the leather of your shoes
approaching me as

I sit beneath a temple
whose worshippers have gone, long ago,
to collect the lamps
that light the trees.

They saw the fall
and tempted us away from here.
But in that sprinkled moment
we felt ourselves immune and chaste.

So we cursed the leaden boxes
as we fell too far to see the shiny vapours
that led to the stream
where the horses sleep.