Dirty socks get lost in youth and hills

I don’t want to write
about leaves. The change in
seasons. my love. Instead:

The bell at 4:44 and by five.
silent. again. You’ve heard
it. Rain. Nothing poetic about
“she slept”

without a mother. a father. a mother. two brothers

4:01.
The monk begins to sing
"Good morning"

Not all bumpkins live in China