In the golden night, thoughts swirl as the falling leaves, finding me restless in my confinement.

This is not the way I expected this to feel. I thought it would be calm. I thought I would be calm. The mirth saps from my veins as I rest here waiting to breathe again.

How do you sort the molecules bursting from the hydrant? How do you call this rest?

A leaf lands in my hands. I inhale.

I call th...