Tuesday, March 9, 2010

The Birches

The quiet lull of winter
Demure grays, muted blues and greens
The skeletal trees naked
without their summer vestments
stand stoic on the side of the mountain

But the birches have a desperate,
misplaced hope in the dead.
Their leaves hold fast through
snow and wind and frigid
air. They dangle lifelessly,
and are full of cracking veins
dry without warmth and water.

The creaking echoes throughout the woods when
the wind frisks by, a sound of winter. But the birch
rattle its teeth and illuminates porcelain bark
like the eyes of a skull, guarding the way into the ancient earth.

Monday, March 8, 2010

The Defined Line

Everything else besides this
is blurred. The line that
separates something from
more is smudged;not defined.
Smoke that drifts...

Between the smallest, an
electron, or smaller, there
is a line, and then there
is nothing.

Add a particle of the tiniest
object to a void, and it is
no longer a void. The physics
have changed, and there are forces
at play that turn the universe.
But add the biggest to infinity, and
nothing shifts at all.