Dry Leaves EP

by owlfeathers

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Adam Ive
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Adam Ive Like an acoustic Sufjan Stevens album. Beautiful acoustic guiatrs, beautiful singing. And some dope album art. Favorite track: O, Dandelion.
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released February 8, 2014



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owlfeathers New York, New York

owlfeathers is an indie-folk duet based at Sarah Lawrence College as well as in Philadelphia.

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Track Name: O, Dandelion
april dawn
the cold dew on the rabbits’ woolen ears
hopping on
the railway track (our clumsy white-tipped feet)
we fell between the wooden railroad beams, as the
april dawn
above us broke. one rabbit spoke, he said,

“like a dandelion in the cherry grove, i feel unmarried, overgrown. just a yellow speck in the scarlet sea; no roots, nor fruit bearing from me.
this riddle’s always haunted me like a civil war ghost on cemetery ridge, not to abridge my thoughts (though still unsure) i feel i ought
to say, ‘don’t worry your life away,’
though never would i ever dream with such certainty to say anything.”

april skies
the rabbits fled, and in their stead, the steam
engine cried,
“get off the track! ought to be smacked!” but while
he decried
his rabbit friends he couldn’t make amends, while the
april skies
(now black with smoke) the boxcar spoke, he said,

“you know, these internal inconsistencies give me goosebumps like a winter breeze. even those gorgeous yellow weeds make for a bitter salad, not like the sweet
charcoal heart inside of us.” the caboose and coal-hopper made a fuss.
“how did we even trek this far with both a cow-catcher and a cattle car?”
to pluck our couplers undone, amuck
and never will i ever see where the line’s dividing you from me

o, dandelion

april dusk
the foggy moon like ghostly air-balloons up high
the angel’s words, like flocks to shepherd's herds, like twine
spun ‘round on spinning wheels, sun-bound with grinning peels of rind
april dusk
the rabbits slept. you know, i still never wept, nor howled

o, dandelion
Track Name: Innocence
how you cried when i kept
all my whispers and dreams
locked in christmastime trunks
wrapped in newspaper twine

now your hair knotted in mine
with a stone in your heart
and our hearts filled with dirt
(i’m sorry i’m difficult, sorry i cried)
Track Name: All Souls (Pts I & II)
i’ll take your words, i’ll tie them tight with yarn
and toss like seeds those letters sent from afar, i held your arms
and i still hold true

a winter’s worth of wind and of silver snow
could not cool our red iron furnace glow, where did it go?
and i still hold true
and i still know you

if you take all of your brambling words
if you tie them ‘round ankles of birds
or, if my letterbox stays undisturbed
i still hold true

if i crown myself king of the moss
if you find all the lichens you lost
or, if our foxtail is killed by the frost
i still know you

if between us a lifetime has passed
if the garden’s o’ertaken with grass
or if, by some trivial chance
i still know you

if we had just a thimbleful more
if our kindness was carried ashore
if you only could mend what you wore
i’d still hold true

and i still hold true
and i still know you
Track Name: Barnyard Grass! Lamb's Quarter! Goldenrod!
ivan asked me, “are you feeling well?
any thoughts here ring a bell?
is that guilt in your eyes?
we built from paper our morality,
in shadow of mortality.
we covered up the skies.”
in front of his eyes
white clover grew while hydrangea died.
(but whose to say a flower’s scent is sweet?)
pulled the bindweed,
we planted rhododendron seed,
(you know, the two look awfully similar anymore.)

i’m still waiting here
in the place,
tucked in woolen socks with frothy milk beside my bed.
my words were sincere
but lacking grace.
quilts patched with goldenrod, and pillows made from straw.
ideas I revere,
free from soot,
i scribbled them all down.

in fields of clover and of pumpkin flower,
sifting through the soil, she scoured,
she opened up our eyes.
said, “you know, i stole prometheus’s fire,
then set adrift a funeral pyre,
i opened up the skies.”
in the barnyard grass,
to words audacious and crass,
i hummed a little verse,
“neither snow nor rain
nor doubt nor fear nor gloom of night
stays these god-seekers from wandering lost.”

i’m still waiting here
in the place,
tucked in woolen socks with frothy milk beside my bed.
my words were sincere
but lacking grace.
quilts patched with goldenrod, and pillows made from straw.
ideas I revere,
free from soot,
i scribbled them all down.

i’m still waiting here
in the place
tucked in fleabane blankets, specked with wild violet seed
these words are sincere,
but lacking grace
we sang lamb’s quarter melody and cocklebur refrain
ideas i revere,
with elegance,
nightshade’s fallen and the dayflowers are singing all alone
i’m still waiting here
with disgrace
wood sorrel wonderings and musings in the dark.
these words are sincere
both brash and base
(the magnolia doesn’t matter anymore.)
Track Name: Chandeliers
i dreamt about the fox’s den
of snowy fields, of you again
and when you came all dressed in red,
with ribbons torn & nothing said

but now there’s fire in your heart
(atop the hills we watched the stars)
the fireplace & chandeliers
don’t mean a thing to us this year

(you came to stay)

why heat the stove? why split the wood?
its wintertime and nothing’s new
the wherewithal to get it right
was lost within the fire’s light

and i can still remember when
(like chirping chick to mother hen
who, worm in mouth and wings outstretched
she held me near her feather’d breast)

i’ve counted daytimes quietly
by drying barrels of mustard seed
i’ve measured all the moonlit trails
by plucking barley from the bails

with sain’ nectaire & clementine
we sat amidst the applerinds
the river banks, the snow at night
your feather’d arm wrapped ‘round my side

with just a paltry piece of rye
& pocketfuls of wooden dimes,
we haunted churchyards tenderly
so stricken i could hardly speak

(though is there now the thunder left
to frighten crows out from their nest
of woven twigs of paper birch?
your feather’d heart; your feather’d ghost)