he was old already, like he had already decided on himself
talking about his old knees and desires for snowy day habits, days full of books and wine, and not being able to keep up with her
the running of the years like the gray of his sky, already smoothed out like a dark cloth in an oak table

i feel like i am just discovering me and perhaps that makes me young and ignorant
but i think I'd rather
become a seed
than start
with bad knees and knots on my tree

roots cannot deceive