Slip of line in roads through trees. Cut into lives. In the rupture of an aqueduct
The light yet. Moves. Chateau-grey. With the aviary buttered on, ruptured in,
Caught abroad in a slip that brings. The sky back down to the ground.
Light slices across the tops of trees. White light cuts the presence back. The lack
Thereof. Light replaced. The light that is a touch. That we cannot see light enter
The cells of the trees, nor what leads, the path down to the cells below the trees.