1. Buried

Tolkien speaks of stories as 'leaves' on the great tree of knowledge. In 'Buried', the metaphor of falling leaves comes to stand for what we lose if we never commit.

In particular, 'Buried' is about the night I met my now wife, what stories, moments and futures may have been buried before they began without that moment?


What a work of art,
You played your part,
My undrawn heart.

Branches on a tree,
We’re falling leaves,
Now I see.

Point of no return,
My unseen world,
All bridges burned.

O what might have been buried here,
O what might have been buried here.

Pages of the night,
Ours to write,
At riverside.

I’m falling in,
Where it begins,
Brushing skin.

Look into your eyes,
Cloudless skies,