The leaves will fall. And so will you. When you do, bury me under them too. Seconds pass, we'll make it through. Eventually we all go home. It won't be long.
Okay. We were safe, now we're paralyzed. Suspended in flight. At this speed it makes no difference. Where I start and where I end. Or if we're sitting in an emergency aisle.
Three chalk outlines sleep in the dirty street. And in our beds, under the sheets. They're the halo of guilt hanging around your neck. Next to the rosary you count falling asleep.