This shapeless fear gives birth to cosmic vibrations
a prelude to porous thoughts.
Foreign in pain, a face burns in deep meditation.
Nothing consoles.
Hurting the contents of judgement,
a reflexive existence exonerates itself from a spiral fall.
Indecisions of sun to penetrate the fissures of dawn
failed the valley of flowers.
Aloneness was speechless.
The shoots plucked the sky in flakes.
The wind played at the mercy of trees.
The royal departure of night sprang a surprise.
The dying seed had a pride to offer.
The sprout.
Nothing is upsetting the garden.
No one is certain of crazy fate.
The sap has a sense of liberation
coming out of conflicts and chaos.
A communion with space takes place.
