at the beginnings and ends of all my days
the vegetation turns black against the sky
opera-goers silhouetted by a proscenium
glowing with thousand watt floodlights
but the show turns out to be art not opera
the audience itself provides the music
the rush of flat leaves skidding together
each branch alive with the groanings
of a hundred insects and at the forks
of all the more convenient limbs
the gentle roosting sounds of nesting pairs
rising here and there into warm-throated
birdsong washing again and again upon
the stage of unresponsive heavens
not knowing whether our applause is heard
not knowing whether this is only a canvas
or a true stage a window a glimpse an act.


2 thoughts on “truths

  1. thank you. i usually come up with images easily, but struggle to cobble them together in a way that says something new or something important. glad you enjoyed it!

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