Crowning Love

Snowcountry

A stream of consciousness.

When you come upon the barren land -
you hear: the canary, with its self-explanatory colors,
doing those things one find demonstrative
of freedom.

The things that harm your heart with sensitive joy,
are completely implied within your care for someone's mercy;
You could lift your hands, and beacon, that
you think otherwise, and will comply to good arguments.

Then dew falls - quartzose globs, a spot or a drop -
mutely asking you to ritualize happiness.
But refusal truly comes,
when one attunes to (a state) nigh articulation.

(Don't!)

But as a tremendous deed,
And by the annihilation of breathing, I boom a silence so deep:
more deafening, than an avalanche of two hands together -
and sing something that has been in my mind for so long

- for so very long! -

Aaaa--! You heard it, with quite a bit of a mistake
(That you haven't heard it... - And not just anything...)
and then proceed to act upon it... and there it is,
only a squirrel, burying a good-looking hazelnut
so he can die peacefully, with the storage in his stead.

(But your heart is disordered!)

(And) you would have thought, the tapering
of some distant wooden huts
is the snow upon some foreigners' land,
breathing a life of charcoal, and need the consolation of their home -
who would attempt to sing that song

(lost to a squirrel)

for that special someone
for whom he puts the kettles on.