The winter Air hangs so crisp and i wish to hang in it
and wisp with the ether.
Drown in the calm. asphyxiate on the atmosphere
As submersed in photons that provide little heat to the overwhelming bleak

The grass is gone. All the water fell from the roots or left from its ceiling to the stratosphere
The vapor hangs around me. Suspended with me
But with lightness
Not weighted and tugged but stagnant as these sun rays. And the light wind breeze pushes me slightly too and fro
I'm like a twig in the wind with sails of leaves
But there's no spark in me. And the birds are the only ones who know. The contemplation has ended and i'm now just a temple of carbon and still blood.

The mocking birds mouth is as still as the tree.