The world underbark has long been night.
Knots turn to diamond chips.
The amputated twig is a trident of latten that would spear trampling feet. Tempests rush through distended limbs, a tendrilous glowing diffused on brickscape where thrown crabapples cling. The Frost Garments Wind-creased they froze that way. Our lines were the ribbed underbelly of a neglected pet. Against morning indigo, shirts held their breath from our dream sleep.