1 byte of my apple

I rise up the grass
From circles below
it colors me wiser
back to my flow

I travel the streets
of functions in dreams
what lies beneath
is not what it seems,

In inscapes of silence
tags are bird <wings>
sitting on saplings,
their nodes
and their strings.

Figments of Web
Transfusion in notes
One byte of my apple,
eight bits in flakes
Snow in my DOM(e).