The Air Loom

Feckless wisdom
Always ends up
Outside the woods,
Not lost in them.

Outside the woods,
The roads tighten,
The buildings rise,
Are exploded,

And new buildings
Rise in their place,
And on and on,
A new forest,

Of sorts, you can
Still get lost in,
But not as deep
Or as witchy

As the forest
That floats in air,
Floats through your air,
Floats in your hair.