ALL THOUGHT BLEEDS TO THE LANDSCAPE

Wind scatters snowflakes

in the silence of an April afternoon;

the trees in naked solitude

stand in line left by men

seeking order in 1972.

Simple geometry, elms in prayer

to the overcast sky

shedding snow. All thought

bleeds to the landscape,

becomes black, gray and brown

and comes back through the senses

and colours all thought. Footprints

in the snow, so slow their burial,

their beginning and end beyond

sight and thus knowledge, falling

of the edge of the mind's map

where it navigates the space-time of the day.

Snowflakes dance in the air,

brainless fairies from the mindless Heaven.

05.04.2018