The splinter goes in,
deep; without malice,
mountains wittled away
by the weight of rain.
Bones were made
for breaking; the heart
a billion tightly measured
seizures-
then, just as storms
grow weak and drained
without the winds to whip
its blood through light-filled
veins...
stops beating.
"Silence", said the sky
with all its cold stars
dreaming, "consider the sea
as all its shimmering
melts to green and grey".
