burnished raze there is dust caked into the gold. it isn't real gold. i keep losing too much time, though i know it's not a thing that can be lost. it falls away from you. i fell once too, into a pile of leaves. the density of their dying built a quilt that covered almost all of me. there was only space enough between their parched lips to breathe in bitter autumn air and stare at pencil shavings in the sky. the clouds were grey and cherry red then. thick enough to walk on, but not robust enough to bear the weight of anything worth worrying over. the birds were singing something about going home. every trill a lullaby i was grateful to be burnished by. 241011 what's it to you? who go blather from