we are natural forms

organic creatures

more like trees

and thickets

than the straight, chiselled lines

we’ve come to measure ourselves


it’s easy to forget

and to distance + seclude

ourselves, inside

our toy boxes

and tool sheds

and coffins

stone + wood

from the earth

but sawn + measured

built to contain

our spirit


the perfect interaction

of wind + sun

and blossom petals

the gracious, free flight

and immeasurable


the light by which to see it

does the coal tit watch too?

is the squirrel inclined

to admire

the tulips?

does the stone ground

register the breeze

and the fall of flowers?

and what of inspiration?

are we –

once wild + simple –

alone in our reverie

and poetry?

are we


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