Plants burn white against the darkness,
unnaturally alive,
as if they are overcompensating
for something the sky has withdrawn.
unnaturally alive,
as if they are overcompensating
for something the sky has withdrawn.
This is growth shaped by damage.
Nothing reaches for light
without remembering
what it costs.
Nothing reaches for light
without remembering
what it costs.
The light drifts between the trees,
unattached to any clear source.
It feels less like sunlight,
everything is evenly lit
and the sameness is unsettling.
Branches coil over one another,
layered until depth becomes
something the body has to negotiate,
not the eye.