Alone
With the birds
And whatever junk
Momentarily clutters my brain,
All my names are silly.
Alone
With beauty and pain,
Most of reality
Lies beyond my body,
Looming close and distracting,
And mind by which I
Perceive
Whatever angle I do.
The world and I
Are full of opinions.
So what?
There's a tree in the south view,
Three distinctive limbs,
Best seen against a cloudy sky,
Transient as the clouds,
As a turn of my head to look,
As I...
There's a tree in the south view,
Beautiful,
With the birds,
And real.