Some day, I think, a tree'll collapse and fossilize in my backyard in Massachusetts.
I'll call it your nakedness:
Not 'cause of the falling but the wind created by it.
I see needlework in the way you walk, it's different from mine. Is there a pattern of nakedness?
Would you use a different stitch?
Petrified. Like the snap of a rubberband. That's me.
And your nakedness? I don't know if I'm with it like I always wanted.
The falling of that tree, reverberating off crumbling leaves:
And your nakedness?
A rushing, full stitch and it's a wind.