The Book Of Leaves

My thanks to John Foxx for the wonderful title


I hold my hand out and the grass
Rushes through my fingers –
I look at window silhouettes
And everything is different;

I turn another page
In The Book of Leaves
It crumbles to dust in my hand
Photographs of distant moments
In The Book Of Leaves
The story of another kind of life
That no-one reads

I walk in silence
Stand in darkness
Talking to the trees

My diary of you and me is called
The Book Of Leaves

I am not the man she loves
No-one really knows me
I’m the album on the shelf
That you have never played –

Somehow changed
And nothing is the same

She writes another entry
In The Book Of Leaves
Engraves another memory
That no-one sees

Tries to write a different ending
in the Book Of Leaves
An invisible, dead language
Only I can read


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