Heavy Brass

The trees thread heavily bright
in the winded night. It runs
crashing with heavy footfalls,
breathy glow edged with smoke.

It makes light the hills
gray and rising, bloomed afeather
soft sage and heather clouds
in a sweeping low sky.

Beneath it I sit, strange
as the stars tearing roots
through the thick sleep above,
the earth springs
sculpted from ringing brass lungs
burning through the dark.

As I sleep the dust settles
in coiled rings around me-
a land broken, buried
with the march of music.