The clouds high above us are heavy,
they drink deep in phosphorescent glow,
occupying an even larger part of the visible sky,
a larger part of a collective, conscious mind;
the shadows caught in elongated exposure in peripheral view
of clouds as they separate beneath,
cutting out swathes of light over vast expanses
of land already wrapped beautiful desolation,
and disappearing into a distance we are all familiar with,
that often fades into immeasurable time
that is as long as at least half the diameter of our conscious mind.
If the oceans were ink, and all the forests were made of pens,
lonely hearts could fill an entire hemisphere with a darkness seen so often
by the blind to reflect with on what vision must be like.
No trees were harmed in the posting of this message, however, a large number of electrons were terribly inconvenienced.