In the patter the leaves fall. A city park. Cold wind biting. Drizzle greets. A distant eye. To the noisy past. On your own chest. In my own memory.
But eyes are windows. I see you cry. Alone. In the past corner. Keeping shadows. Preserve memory.
In the rhyme line. A wound keeps a trace. Yourself.
Photo and poem by: @penyaircyber