The white lilies stand
between the bark off
as warnings of pain.
The rain making them inflated
icy messengers of disaster. She is
tulle and horsehair and braided hair
branches and leaves, red.
Thunder was
and pick his steps, and you
trembling, his breath.
Veli gray and damp down the visions
rendon dull the senses,
fill the silences of mistakes.
Fog is the world of trees.
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