Blustered frozen simple smiles,
crushed by the weight
of a thousand delicate snowflakes.

The tree bends and breaks
in the floating rain,
in the gentle rain,
the feather touch of midnight dew.

The tree burns in the deluge.
Burns and breaks,
and shatters into a fine golden powder.

Crisp crackle cobbles,
lined with Autumn bones,
brittle in the dry winds.
Meters paced with brown and gold,
and fading green.
 
All across the ocean,
with the wandering clouds
and distant shafts of lonely sun,
giant hunks of coloured steel,
crawl.
 
I pull the dagger from my hand,
oil raked stains of the night,
oil soaked memory, balanced...

Bells,
the unheard clammer of morning,
the pencil clutching empty hand,
aloft.
 
A string of silver beads
tiptoes along the empty twig,
naked and forlorn.
 
And the tree breaks.