The Night in Gale ( The Garden )

The bird made of night
please do not be the sign
let me reach for my
glass-made eye balls
before you shoot
off the leaning branch
frightening departure
sound painted from fall
just a second
before the teeth
bite the lawn
watered and loved
oh the words
what have i done ?
through (un)known forrests
silent grooves
raining feather
of my lethal murmur
all those monstrous faces
on those tired trees
all just a piece of me
soil is better to listen to
a carcass better friend to you
than my shoulders
fragmented ill
i have nothing good to give to you
but my good will.