When you leave don't make a sound The trees will hear and stretch their frowns Their smallest leaves are turning gray Before long you too will lose your way Is it the weather? That gives me stained glass eyes With a knack for rolling the dice When you're beaten black and blue Beyond awareness of the bruise Your smallest details turn away And leave you in the broader space Life underwater Where it all slows down Among the resting place of the light And the salt that it drowned