Not an Edification for Winter Months!
“Wings of greenwood” Only that,
when the world is not so green,
when we rely upon turns of bygone
ochre resplendent with collapsing brown,
the dossier renews itself with dust
from notes held against borrowed light,
deciphered in the thought as feathers
which fly broadly over the tundra.
The multi-sided all white, it swallows
the bird further in flight. An entrance
of a self of another sense, and consumed
in the cloud unsettled with moisture
with full aspects of a thousand eyes,
waiting, blind again, until released
back down upon this countless earth.
Resultant diminishment from selection
but brought on equal with accumulation,
they interpose their woven textures
that wind while our buildings collapse
from precipitation in clogged gutters.
The setting of a place. The coming home
after the obviousness of where to go. Only
then, reliable as a faulty hinge, our broken
forms of a child, “catch me when I fall”.