This is a random poem. Also, weird.

I'd say we're through;

it's true that we never saw the leaves
fall. we built a cabin in the woods.
no trees. the dirt caked
mud upon our feet, mingled with our sweat,
left nothing clean. the world was

old. clean. it smelled of wintergreen and
river rushing over waterlogged cedar. the
smell of love. of stars that twinkle
above our roof unseen. at night
i wonder what made you come, what light.

it's true that we never heard the rain
rush. the wood was rotten before we got here.
the grubs and grackles were living here long
before our stars. our sweat and our feet. breath
mingles with the pine-soaked autumn wind. it chills

into a mist. i can see your soul, white hot and
strange. the burning crispness of nature, the stars
in the sky and earth. the earth is not balanced
on tortoises but on many-eyed black birds. shimmering
eyes poised to attack. love was our worm.

now that it's gone, i'd say we're through. it's true
we never heard the beams crack. thunder in the night.
we never felt the rain fall on our skin. still the sky
is open wide. no canopy of lights protects us. no haven
shall hold us. we are ourselves no more.