Surplus.

the time
we have
we waste

bare hands
tried to stop the rain
from pouring

there is no amount
that would be enough

The grass withereth
The flower fadeth

In October, among the puddles on the asphalt,
the breeze kicked up and I was assaulted by falling
sycamore leaves. They fell down on me like pieces
of rawhide, like sails
being furled.