the summer sun sent down flames to lick their skin
and the auburn of the trees in the morning made them consider the end of days
and the bird and bee found refuge in the wood
and there was a lightness to the morning air that
sent them down in to the lake

     with the snow came their unending dreams of fault
and the dead were buried under the white
and the ice cut their lines
and their breaths were drawn short because of
the lack of atmosphere

     shards of multicolored luminescence paved paths down their arms
and the scars shone like tattoos on the moondust
and the sidewalks crumbled underneath diseased limbs
and their motionless silhouettes down the hillside proved
that there was more to death than dying