The top trees of the far mountain were as shadows;
olive statues over looking the
deep green slope stood out as sentinels
or the sages of old, staring us down,
ants on asphalt,
with bitter indifference.
This is the path I take.
When I stare at the velvet tapestry of the night sky,
woven together as roses in a garden of thorns,
I cannot help but think these petals have compassion.
No, they cannot be as indifferent as the desolate forested island from which I claw.
caring for the dystrophy and soft crumble of the universe's puzzle
as it falls apart,
to be reunited...
is a beautiful petal... Still disinfected, scratching across the widening void of space
to save us from the fall,
to save us from ourselves.