lacrimae mundi

fine patterns are pretty the sound leaves make falling on a tin-roof the pulling tapping of the train leaving far into the distance when the ambience is open in silence i like to say hello to the sweet winter branch cradling me at the window by the gentle way it sounds swaying in violent but ebbing winds it is impossible to resist this simple proof for shape itself in its harmonic truth he may be set free at last in his heart's desire not to be coaxed by themes of symmetry nor by fine cuts nor golden ratios saying no to the reins of geometry it is good to be obstinate about why dawn and dusk look good and why when it looks like the moisture from the earth seems to be slowly sucking up into the air you remember the way light changes its color a fog takes shape over the land in places that now depend rather on faith where memory is it rather than mere sight according to the specific time of day you find yourself in a majestic thing watching it revolving

CuldeSac

What are words without understanding and what is understanding without sense?

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