There is a stripping back, a certain falling off,
a darkness to the light, an awareness to the love;
a slight holding in where there was gush and rush;
a sharpness to the winds, and a sparseness to the words,
a clicking into place where enough can be enough
and not an iota more, a distaste for too much;
a tying up of leaves, an end to risk-averse,
a paring of the sky. A yearning for the nub.