New Lines for Half a Song

A damp shine from the flat mouth
Of a well. The wind takes steps
On the hill and through the pines.
Can you see this? Then you’re mine.

Rose is a fine tint for dawn
Or a sweet tongue, for a bird,
But it’s strange to see rose pines.
Can lungs breathe ash? Then you’re fine.

A small end for a small world.
A rose tint in the lake’s swell.
Haze smells like the ghosts of pines.
Can you drink ghosts? Fire as well.