While silver fruit rots on trees Forage the dry earth, now breath. Shadows coil, twist and yearn, Cogs burr and bats stir in the eaves. Piercing eyes stare from cracks Splits in beams holes in the shack, Voyeurs of the dead machines, Voyeurs in a shed unseen. Hurt dwindled like little burns, little scars, An eye for machinery, an eye fixated upon the stars, Silver by nature, silver by nurture, Silver in the head silver once dead. Clamps and forceps, medical vices held by Wires writhing beneath the leaves, Bonding with smoke like solder, A cloud of love for autumn's disease, A cloud of love for autumn's beauty.