Cloud-cuckoo-land

The sky floods into your mind, and the narrow streets | are gates

The light of spring was so fresh, the sky so luminous and clear, for a moment | my heart was cirrus

Then the sky, too, forms the gates and | we pass through, on our way | to the narrow streets

The trees become | our grace and perplexity before their beauty | The forest drifts, then hesitates its way | into | statement

The moment flowers

<lush samsara>

 

from the series hypergrammar (open-ended, 2012–present)