the air is always cool there, and sleep is what murmurs in the older oaks/ i am just another old man among all the old men who are seen as shadows and what we do is walk around/ i wonder what it is we look at slumped over like we’ve had the life whipped from us because we have had the life whipped from us/ and whatever illumination once emanated deep within our eyes has been relegated to just the drifting of our remains now molting as we slowly become dragonflies/