the cold cuts clearer

she's gone back to her digging

summer's blood died with the leaves
and was trampled underfoot
the night's coming soon
she finds the seeds that permeated never planted
the frail roots are breaking
(no matter how numerous)
the frost's grip is too tight

the bare moon offers no answer
neither from the cracking pine
there were too many witnesses, she worries
but could it even be considered crime

the distance long becomes the distance high
you knew that rain didn't fall for growth
it fell out of fear
now it freezes
and the cold cuts clearer