Inside display of broken wings so smooth porcelain
face cracks and flakes away turns pulse
flying down telephone lines to the pictures
on your wall burning on contact and the branches
were stripped under winters numb with the breath.
That was the fire burning through the room and
we won't come back under back drop of mountains above pastels in flames that crawl up time wont.
Stop for loss it hits the back seat tearing
fabric from the lines till the clouds some to
swallow the night leaving less piled on the floor
this one hands you the all we fall.
