You fold the page where ink bleeds sepia brown
Rain stitches through the Herengracht's wet crown
Quercus robur leaves press flat between lines
Winter fog curls round the bridge's iron spines
The letter breathes like moss on brick and stone
You read the words that soil and time have grown
Each sentence roots where canal water flows
A Herbarium note that no wind blows
Your fingers trace the watermark of rain
Salix alba weeps along the canal plane
The paper drinks the mist like thirsty loam
You smell the peat beneath the city's foam
The letter breathes like moss on brick and stone
You read the words that soil and time have grown
Each sentence roots where canal water flows
A Herbarium note that no wind blows
The postmark stamps a date in faded ink
Taxus baccata shadows fall and shrink
You wonder if the writer watches growth
Or waits for spring to prove the letter's oath
Saxophone sighs through Fagus sylvatica crowns
The bridge stones hold the heat of passing towns
You pocket warmth where root and letter meet
A quiet graft on winter's frozen street
The envelope unfurls like frond in spring
Corylus avellana catkins swing
You tuck the note where damp brick meets the air
And leave a seed of reply waiting there
The letter breathes like moss on brick and stone
You read the words that soil and time have grown
Each sentence roots where canal water flows
A Herbarium note that no wind blows
Morning lifts the fog from water's skin
Ulmus minor drinks the pale light in
Your boots trace circles on the cobblestone
The letter lives where roots and rain have grown
The letter breathes like moss on brick and stone
You read the words that soil and time have grown
Each sentence roots where canal water flows
A Herbarium note that no wind blows
The letter breathes where only water knows
Piano fades like chlorophyll at dusk
Bass walks home through rising mist
