all the shadows in the world it seems
have fallen from the sky of my innermost self
clouded over and collecting in outstretched palms
trickling to overflow over my fingers
completely saturating
and if to refresh for a second, to drown the next
the oak tree in the forest knows this
he is witness to all
that dance on the borderline of chaos and hollows
in the deepest ocean of blackness and canyons
within the inside
the carved out ribs of mountains that thrum with wind-whistle
and glint in the shade of ashen branch piles