A wooded glade webbed
Under a scale of stars

Mind suffering inquisition
As if stuffed in a jar

Then silver glows
Through crisp winter leaves

Yet shadows all dissipate
As I rise to my knees

Behind each minute, second
A forest of time

Clouds ebbing further
With the moon and stars inside

A pale instinct
As humble as a home

Each thought feels wind torn;
The price of being alone