The soft white of night-time clouds
Is not the startling white of the moon
Scattering snowlight across the forest floor
A man tracks its rays to a cliff
Walks to the knife edge
Closes his eyes
Goes over
Light annihilates the sky
The white ash falling on the woods
Is not the color of snow or moon
Nor the speckled white of birch
Now that all the forest flies the same color
We know we’re no longer in our world