Buds bloom beautifully into flowers,

And spill silently into soil.

pulling this notebook out of its pouch for my own sake
snags my phalanges in a chinese finger trap of creativity

fingers wrapped tightly around the base of this endless inkwell
pushing words out of experience flat onto paper
that pushes back against the rolling ball on point

the loose but anxious grip
of this wise trinket's wooden strips
remind me to step back
to expel myself from the grip of I

foggy air and
crisp frosted grass
beckon the winter

lazy for hours
briefly studious
exhale

for a moment
the breeze fades
sunlight warms the cool air

horse grazing
bus flies by
still grazing

pendulum drawn back
and let go
God breathes life into his creation
in an awesome transformation
of potentiality to reality

swinging forth, happiness
and back, to suffering
a dog chases his own tail

at the asymptotic futility
of grasping at clouds
tranquil Death chuckles
sitting still
betwixt the poles