3

# # # # # #

As faster than seasons time passed, men's hearts were to be revitalised toward Leaf. The ones that did not assimilate the love were left without its colour's grace, for into the shadow lay trouble; fire's spilling within dark no one saw. How sad to be so . . . lonely?

Yet Leaf's forgetfulness was easy; a cherished ardour, transfiguration of spirit, secured inside a bird's cage that rested on his table. Light ran about, its imitations a dark grey upon the wall, climbing up and up that his room was bedecked with a prisoner's anguish—no tears this time. What was the difference . . . ? He had no answer . . .

In the morning when sun was up and sky too blue, he had reasoned with the freedom seeker, a large bearded man who specialised in procuring bodies for the medic division—a ghoulish task that lent him an air of untimely mystery.

Persistent, he fired back in a retort, jabbed him in the ribs, expressed his loathing for Leaf's dastardly mechanisms. The noise from his cracked lips, hemmed in by a patchy beard that was curly and richly red, drew an instant revulsion from him, a reaction he had not anticipated.

The hand that held the sword moved outwards with a twitch; and in a moment as short as lightning's arrival, the man's throat was cut into perfect two, stopping his inevitable words before they could form. He fell back, eyes wider than they were in anger, blood going from him in robust arcs, vanishing.

The gorge rosed whilst he witnessed the man writhe, a struggle that was inutile . . . meant for little; and there was nothing more humorous than a fat man rolling in mud . . . after some moments, he was no more than tight pumpkin cheeks, besmeared with red and brown, and contorted limbs in the forest's enclosure . . .

A night was upon him, summer that could not leave; and he sat by the table, the cage wavering upon the wall, fire dancing.

Summers that dripped from thy eyes, lips rubicund, traces in honeyed . . . white. A little of you was in the eyes, more of you in the dream's skies.

Brother . . . O', brother . . . where are we now?

# # # # # #