I pass a swathe of green and blue,

a dual image, for when I think of trees

I think of you and me,


but twisted differently.


My wings paint strokes of swift ambition

while my tail whispers of distant kin,

and deep within my structure

oil mourns lost timber

and leaks out.


Stretched three ways my wings and tail snap,

propellers splash the sky with red

and with a crash my engine drowns the silence

of our land.


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