Capes of old past selves
flagging past the present beam
doors thumping on compacted springs
the shine of all things in motion

tracks on the snow white snow
the perks of time
flaring like kindling
emblems of travel
fading into wheat
and oak distances
a pinwheel at the bottom of
a brimming barrel

casting shards of bone.

Helicopter through
the weeping tendrils
a tongue of clouded steel
pushing soil congealed
by a volcanic blade.

Hushed and shadowed windows
a stick of rib cages
centuries long and gleaming
tool shed's crown of thorns.