barks of trees feeding

Look at me 

I want to cry

I want to scream

There is a level you reach, 

a sort of tingling of the senses, 

when you can no longer feel your core

a sort of halo becomes visible, around the moon

you can see it just now

but you know

it's always been there

barks of trees dying, weights of winds--

pushing

barks of trees feeding, weights of winds--

waking

A depth becomes known

Beyond films of eyes now torn 

Silks over the others--falling

The colors under--reaching