by erika

currency-for ezra


Inside the small globe of your world

snow falls down around you

While here, in my miniature bubble,

1300 miles away,

leaves of yellow and amber blow and spill

when shaken by the wind

or your memory


The black squirrels are busy

No time for jumping in leaf piles

or playing chase

They can smell the crisp clear of the upcoming winter

They can smell the world arriving

that will soon force them inside


Stay outside!

Where the snow falls on gold

Where you, my little squirrel, are too busy

jumping, playing chase, trusting

that all you need will be taken care of


Here, 1300 miles away,

shaken by the wind

and your memory

I can smell the world arriving

and collect acorns

to carry home to you