death etc.

It begins 
  with the sun and the air and the end;
when the sky becomes skin.

Psychedelic shadows
Seep into the land
And are still at last.

It ends
with the moon and the stars and a drift into still.

A honeyed breeze rolls down the trees,
sending shivers up their spines,
whispers through their leaves.

A green light blinks out at sea.
Violet flashes in the eyes of the woods.
Trees are our cover, our lover, our friend,
the belly where we begin in and end.

The sunrise sky is summer red,
behind the lattice-work of clouds.
Lightning blooms beneath a blue glass sky
before the day is dead.

Flocks of shadows whistle in flight,
as the wind slides through their hollow bones,
hollow like the historical drinking gourd,
emptied of its stars.

An exodus of spirits take flight,
drifting on the hellish evening breeze
Our constellations are like a celestial beehive
illuminating the cages of glittering hierarchies.  

Being is like time: imagined but accepted,
vast as empires,
and limited as faith.
A day like the first

Hearts that stopped, wordlessly:
Rootless days breed hungry nights
No light in these nights,
no time but at sea,
where all the clocks hang above the sky.

People will search for traces of this genocide
but all they'll find are catacombs of trees.