How to recapture a spirit of insanity?
Further.
How much further could you take this?
Past shuddering sage leaves in a container garden.
How to recapture a time when all song lyrics meant something instructional about observing magic?
Just like then, you are the risen king.
The setting and stage lighting has not changed.
It’s just one lamp above, and sometimes a jolly reflector moon.
And maybe, just maybe an accumulated light wave from stars beyond.
And why were these magnificent little sparrows dismissed as trivia?
How could something so dazzling become dull?
The wings beat like the starting of a simple motor.
Little points of morning glory purple across a green-yellow hill.
A breath of fog that nobody but me will see at this hour, minute and second.
And if the wind could blow in something even more special, what could it possibly be?
I’ve never seen a nuclear winter or a comet’s destruction.
I wouldn’t know a solar flare; like a batch of Chinese characters mean nothing to my language.
A lone rabbit with a white tail and a coat like the coyote’s comes in to graze on grass between the glory leaves.
It flicks dew from its forepaws.
Maybe that was blown in, and it could be chased into new territories.
New lands beyond this one but right here nonetheless.
No answers in the fog.
No answers in the shaking of the bush leaves denying wind.
No answers in the seeking because nothing’s to be found.
