Bagatelle for Hallodell

A cluster of leaves -
a tree, its bunches held.
It threat to drop them,
when I paused,
thinking of anything -
“ma vie, mon or!”

When I withdraw my sword,
leaving behind a new hole,
you’ll know that we
are real, and fear,
fear is real - and the
bedroom in my mind is tight, & aches -

Ach. I strike into a puff of leaves.
I move on. I hold my word.