Under the lilies, still more that’s green.
Under the reflection of the emerald sun..
Life, full of other life. Life rich with dartings.
Who knows what a bug sees when its eyes bulge into the sky.
As it bounces on meniscus elasticity,
Like a birthday child in a hired castle of air.
We do not map to those unfathomable simplicities.
Colours pure as pin-pricks.
Tastes brief as seconds.
Reflexes certain as nightfall.
Whirled lives, in the sudden waters.
We have analogue and digital, and art.
And from the mountains of our skulls,
We peer into the pure life. Emptily