Authors fall soaking panes writing my innermost thoughts, 'the end' is so calm. My cold pallid bark unveils my thirty two rings The family tree falls. Nest of blooded quills from my discarded Angel guards nothing anymore. Love makes us like trees to fall upon our sheddings, bones on shallow tombs. I have lived and died a poet, whore, saviour ending to begin. (Above is a hybrid of haiku and senryu with each stanza conforming to the 5-7-5 syllable restriction yet connecting to the next stanza to actually tell a story. The story is about the nature of poets and the storms we endure. I found my eye, my calm, its blue and her names shannon.)