Heavy hangs your branch, rocking in the breeze. A tree of sleep. A living tombstone. Standing alone within a mead of green. A bark obelisk built by your thoughts. The haunter of my dark. Dirt writhing in a salted downpour. Seeded in the depths of my mind. One sapling thought, the compass to your fate. Others compelled to join you. But upon which bough will they bloom? These branches can bear no more fruit. They should not. You shall be its one blossom.