(packed away)

is that the sound of violins
or the long strands of your hair
running long against the others
when you walk against
the wind in front of me
whilst i rustle at your heals
the ricochet of leaves stumbling
on eachother
golden after summer crisp now
gathering loosely at the edge
of a parking lot
the clutter of a symphony
packing up
instruments away and discussions of the performance
the lack of synchronicity
how autumn came early this year
sounding better in summer tones
warm echoes within wood
chambers carrying out a sound
even when it’s finished
i still hear your hair
the sound of violins
(packed away)