clear skies. with just a few notes about what is alive.

 

from clouds unable to bleed

grows a tree without arms

upon the grave of the sun

 

the grass must be dry to have woven a nest around you

 

spring leaves. painted a small red.

almost lost in slightly taller sounds.

through cracks in the ceiling

i hear footsteps of moss on the roof.

 

blue. where mountains end.

where hearts soften. and silvered winds

flow in.

 

wind over earth.

book of our names.

the living the dead the unfinished.