The double-pitched howling of wolves

Shrouded tampered paths of buds,

Leaving chimes with the prairie.

A bark of History

Stapled the minds to

Sapphire rain,

Natures blind.

Wrinkles on our faces,

Traces but never grasped and held

The reason why hail doesn’t hurt us.

Why is it

We don’t recognise nature,

Nature doesn’t recognise us?

The sighing moon cramped our state

Guarding us from the sights that scatter

And break.

Can you hear it?