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There’s a lot to be said for tactile suggestion

How treading leaves with rubber soles

Is an eternal orientation

Contextualizing roles

The shoe, the man, the fall

Somewhere between specificity and ambiguity

Strange songs begin to call

Like myriad birds

Flitting in their season

Whether in fifths or thirds

They will seduce a novel reason

The sight and prickle of the holly

The wind whips between bare branches

Without melancholy

Yes, due to such stanchions

As the footfall and the dusk

All such touches all of natures kisses

Will breathe life into a husk

For touch is truth that never misses

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