There is a clock that says;
'The world and all its desires pass away'.
Never more so than in these vast landscapes
Where our tiny mindscapes founder
Contemplating a fabulous mutability.
The skyscape feathers by far above,
Black clouds threaded with lichen light
At once threatening forceful engulfment
But careless elemental nature disregards,
Passing over and through leaving us breathless
Simply dropping soft water on exposed dark earth
Black crows scattered over the silent soil,
Plumage shining like hanging droplets.
Reflected greenish hue subsumed by ancient desire
The world remains, not passed away, merely changed.