the treetops are open, the leaves are gone and the spirits walk down to save the breeze along the open road inside the house of the death inside you that always sneaked outside and alone to talk to the beings and swallow the earthlights you see in the distance when you drive alone at night the aurora hides when you come near you've never given the time to waste away and watch how the river sprouts how the lines blur as you follow them in you and everyone that fits into this on the snow-covered leaves on the ground trees have ghosts like we do .dreas.