It gets as warm as leaves growing on the back of the head.
A leaf leaves if it has taken its time.
I am left, rooted.
A new surface which emerges from the right
Goes back down all the way round,
At first, it takes a year
But then it comes through any which season
The weather trying to make me loveable,
But culpable me to not always meaning it
Their mistake, of course.
I might forest when it rains.