The swapped colours, carefully:
the ground grew silver
the hut dirtied its boosts,
before whispering nothings about isolation,
of tree trunks paces
from doorless doorways
and dark inviting portals.
It cycled owners, remembering faces
who’d taken refuge in the nothing
before one day wandering alone
and finding civilisations thumbprint
stamped in an asphalt exit ramp
awkwardly clearing its throat
offering rescue.