fall is interrupting our living spaces, pushing itself onto our footbeat streets.

dewdrops roll back into air and coalesce; grass pulls up its roots and walks away.

it is fall on the eleventh floor, and everything is burnt beyond recognition;

we are surprised when we discover our mirrors show us wearing scarves,

hats, shoes with toes. i hide my warmth under my arms, huddling under myself,

tabula rasa: a clean slate. fall is heavy and shivers on the wind.