never fails to excite .with all the talk of leaves
here, falling, i am interested to see another breed
of folk that love and gather.
remind me of roseberry road, the younger days.
sat in the upper room, read a letter to his mum,
about the trenches, the first world war, wished
to drown his sorrow in that bloodied mud. the floor
tilted, a scrap lay crumpled.
each room has a different door.
we left, fell the last few steps.