the treetops are open, the leaves are gone
and the spirits walk down to save the breeze
along the open road inside the house
of the death inside you that always sneaked
outside and alone to talk to the beings
and swallow the earthlights you see
in the distance when you drive alone at night

the aurora hides when you come near
you've never given the time to waste away
and watch how the river sprouts
how the lines blur as you follow them
in you and everyone that fits into this
on the snow-covered leaves on the ground

trees have ghosts like we do

.dreas.