We were born in roots 

and with days we have crossed steep heights. 

Green sensations, virgin affairs, dancing on questionable twigs, 

we are here to merge into nothingness. 

We are here after those evenings of retired whiskeys and kink in our soul.

You will always find us under identical dry leaves. 

Cold wind will blow us away, 

and we will see our friends flourish in springtime from the other side of this cynical wood.

…………………………………………………………………….

Photograph: Mike Loudermilk.