Light rain on the deck,
chrysanthemums dewy
in damp terracotta skirts.
The dirt smells clean.
The world smells healthy.
Wet grass.
I lean on the rail,
watch the nearest pine
spread wide
across the charcoal sky.
I feel autumn
within
and outside me.
My shadow
smiles at me.
Even if I cannot see it,
I know
it’s wry.
Because
this must be
how Peter Pan felt
when he grew up.
זהו קטע נבחר מתוך היצירה. הטקסט המלא נשמר לפרסום עתידי.