Streaks of color dying out to plain canvas
Conquering visions and lush green canopy
Tapering off to flat grey, a cold world
Asleep and buried, without movement.
A stark line as plain as the sunset
People stop and turn around
Leaving me to be in death
Receding into the dusk.
As clockwork as the winter which laid it
The receding snow unveils my body
Now being committed to the worms
Who slowly consume my electricity
Churning beneath, churning to life
Ideas become flesh, and bones give shape
Green arms blowing in a fresh spring breeze
As buds open and flowers spread seed.
Fresh paint laid, wide hurried strokes
New life forms, feverishly mating
Already the sun is high overhead
And the cool kiss of copper is on its way.
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