Temporary

Jurassic forest floors long since swallowed up

by waves of bleach-grained beaches,

overgrown trails winding through Autumn mountains,

remnants of leaves,

coniferous greens now umber, still scented like cold pine -

the language buried in campfire signals, ley lines and worn river rocks...

that deep and whispering code just at the edge of comprehension,

damp and ancient.

Smoke rises, lingering like a shadow,

a haunting dawn breeze, here then gone...

so much of the world already slipping away unnoticed.

For all things alike -

Death...

is but a sharpness in the void.