Living inside an illegible part of the world you’d get busted by the beauty every time. You’d have nothing to say because the wrong profile. Far from them always. Understand it’s been a mistake so long you take it for your own tree your own shade. And the storms man. The storms take it up to the limit and farther on. Just because they can but they shouldn’t. Like you saying what comes to mind because you have one. Ears too. But then here’s the next real quiet part. And that goes on long and long.
You read enough about these arts and there goes the willow tree there goes the strong sun. How even the words will disappear. You find the brook and seize the day. We find you under stones in the mossy parts hoping in the muddy creases for something to show like a savior. It’s the silence it likes. Then figures. Not yet.