The branches begin to shed their robust aging locks,
a stillness as if dead,
creeping clouds clues to some motion,
a mast setting sail eastward the lone vessel in the sea,
the rocking waters rumbling with a lion's roar
snoring while the pale coin twirls with the stars,
sprinkles of salt on the concrete making it crack,
a low moan of tires waning,
a whisper of wind against the brisk pane,
a stifling chill creating goosebumps,
restless night.
