A breeze blows on the fallen leaves, crunching under footfalls .Thoughts flow in a pageant , as slowly crawling centipede ,being so much like a human chain .
Their poetry exists in fine words, their rhythms beating as in life, their symmetry really pretty. Beauty-words gently fall like December mist dripping from leaves.
Our own transience feels like birds in the blue above the treetops. In summer sky’s blue torpor we keep stretching our vision until tiny luminous worms are found swimming in pools of tears in raised eyes. Here, a dog becomes a mere image on the rock where it belongs, a joyful photo-luminescence.