A thing that blossoms from the air:
the air; nothing blossoms
from you. The earth is itself, and fills
its own definition for the eyes
to claim dominion over
progress. Cause-and-effect isn’t
the mind’s sculpture, but the universe’s
movement to the self. The canvas
isn’t marked by the empty; the painting
is without our hands, painting its own
form, and moves us to itself. It is
not ours, but we become it.