You the forest move like skies, you the trees and breeze are waking with every bird and sun and you the forest sometimes cold with your bare neck and limbs all twisted. You the forest falling and you the forest with your windy spine. I want you felled. Everything a mist, your finger whispers down against the floor where moss and creek all trickle, where mist is breaking stick and twig. You breathe the forest in the skies. Your breathe the dirt between your toes. Your neck stripped of leaf and thorn and the trees all split and heaving.