My breath leaks from this hole,
Roots beating through my hair,
Walk backwards in a line,
Slowly reaching the wall,
Hold my hand, fingers cold,
Kiss my obscurity,
Hold my hand, fingers cold,
Kiss my
The clouds begin to grasp
And scrape at the land
Scratching at the fields
Desperately I shake my head
I know them
You are coming home
Dragged flat horizons so thin
Begin hovering with the
The spin of a wheel turning
Metal wires yank
Slabs of brown
And the cloud bank settles
Forcing me back down
Through flushing dreams
Of orange
The dusk whispers
And shakes the lies
Out of the branches
