If you come in autumn.
If you come in autumn.
I will brush away summer.
If you come in autumn.
Half smile, half refuse.
I will spend my summer 20 10 years ago.
Like housewives catching flies.
Half smiling, half contemptuous.
If I can count on you a year later.
Like a housewife, a fly.
I will wind the month into a sand ball.
If I can see you in a year.
Separate them and put them in the drawer.
I will wrap the month into a ball.
To prevent these graphics from merging without separation.
Put them in separate drawers.
Even for a few centuries.
Because of fear of digital convergence.
I am willing to fiddle with my fingers and count the days.
If it's only a few centuries, delay.
Reduce day by day until all the fingers sink in.
I'll count it by hand
Landing in Tasmania.