Calligraphy of naked branches
against the urban avalanches
is crisp and clear, like the voices
of morning birds. There are no choices.
Breathe in the cold that stops your breath,
that fills your lungs – your shibboleth
and drown, happy, in the verse
of crystal clear universe.
Cherries soaking up the sun –
semi-transparent,
sumptuous,
filled with liquid sweetness…
Roses taking the light full-on –
harsh contrast between the petals,
drama concretised in colour…
A fly –
black hole in space,
consuming the light completely,
transforming it into boundless energy,
incessant buzzing.
A quiet afternoon
with time
to look and see.
Under the shield of ashes –
forgotten passions.
Ashes add to the peat,
feeding the wheat.
Wheat multiplies and thus
it’s feeding us.
People with decent rations
have time for passions.
Passions that burn in flashes
leave only ashes.
Under the shield of ashes –
forgotten passions…
As you travel through England, you gain a visceral understanding of space-time continuum, for you can see time affected and distorted by space and vice versa, as you move between villages and towns, between pasts and presents, through pools of frozen time into the rapids.
