Across the river dances a hurricane of leaves,
flitting back and forth, through one another...
I look left to meet a feast of my closest acquaintances,
some stare as if asked the unanswerable,
others rest in this muddy gold...
Behind me lies a world of in-continuities,
alien life and the holy depths of impossibility...
A west facing path leads my mind to run off,
the wind flows between my reality, yet stops at the grass.
Too much? No, or is it? Such a greedy joy I am, a blank slate in a tub of ink, when I come out, all that's left is a memory of infinite heaven on a tiny beach.