The Soul of Real
In this time of infinite space
I corral myself like cattle.
Behind iron fences are cement walls.
I salivate futures beyond slabs.
Environment molds structure :
Unnatural becomes natural.
All things teem with Lenard Cohen's cracks
that ache for expanses the heart lives daily.
It is my fingertips who doubt.
This Godly place is plain
where light's reflection's crystalline.
My current plant sees horizons
when structures finally crumble
so I've been holding my breath for years.
It is in this dizziness I see God's shimmer.
I know He exists in breathing too.
