I heard you dance at the doorway
kicking at the heels of shoes
until they scatter like chickens at feed

you still smell of the trees
the alive ground wet trodden
again a dalliance of cigarette

your hair at its many parts
reveals shorter hair surely
a sign of your growing

there is smell of scalp
the struggle of sweatshirt
the wet of a missed autumn bus

all chaff and embers
those enclosures of care
that kitchen quiet while your sleep

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