Dear Reader,
this ticking of a kitchen timer,
this turning of a corner within single frames
a slow emergence
as a Golem out of Plato's cave
to turn into
a dendrite under a bed of moss
a new gripped friction of being spoken for
a new pulse
beating
to leave humans behind
to listen
If you ever feel feral and just need a fucking second,
allow your eyes the freedom to focus on pollinators
allow the pollinators to tell you something
of purpose.
maybe means no
profound is effortless
As a lone chestnut tree,
unapologetically remembering,
