we are natural forms
organic creatures
more like trees
and thickets
than the straight, chiselled lines
we’ve come to measure ourselves
against
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
aah
the perfect interaction
of wind + sun
and blossom petals
the gracious, free flight
and immeasurable
landing
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
alone?
ॐ
