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.