Nature

Words of love and lust make fine sounds
But I had rather hear the sound of tired trees
Creaking in endless forests,
The waves of sand, the where salal stand like astronauts

The pools where waves start,
but never return like they should
Never get smaller.

Here in this tiny space
wash with the sound of crickets
So small I can't see my hand in front of my face
So big I can't feel the weight of my soul.

So dark, yet so light
So lost yet so bright, the discourse of utter chaos
Yet it flows one day into the next
Without the cursed comment of men