Wading in and out like giants, Titanic winter feet, brushed through like marble They caught nothing.
They scraped against he canvas of the sky, and where their curious fingers touched the Low hanging fabric of the air they sent pin-****** of fire blazing through the night.
Almost gentle, they ripped trees from the ground. Not from spite, simply to see Where their water crawled when they went to sleep. They held the leathery trunks above their heads and looked into them, freckling their perfect ivory faces with the black of earth.
This poem is a ******* mess, I know. I apologize in advanced.