Autumn sky is company,
In leaf filled tornados I am free.
In all these hues,
It\'s the blues I see.
Your voice is a rustle in the wind,
a rumour, a murmur,
like the hole in my heart,
the blood that escapes my veins.
I long for a home,
a bird forever on the wing,
I seek the will to sing.
These Windows are my prison.
I force the tree\'s spiteful limbs
Into witches fingers.
Tree fingers,
I pray for their conjuring,
There are no offerings.
I am futile,
I am spun sugar,
brittle,
a lone ingredient,
that which has no place in the mouth of your existence.