The dirt shifts under me,
My head laying back into the soft ground.
Situated on a small patch of brown,
Isolated from the world of flowers surrounding me.

It’s dark where I lay,
From here I can see the moon.
Bright and colourful resides outside of my patch,
Despite the trees in the suns wake.

I lift my arm to the sky,
Reaching for the moon.
A tattoo across my wrist formed by a fine blade,
reveals a sea of red from my outstretched palm.

My vision blurs and the world hazes,
I reach to pull the moon away and reveal the sun.
But the thatch work above me holts my progress,
Beneath it I am never to see the sky.

I long to breach this sky of branches...