The environment we create
Is a ladle of particulates,
A spoon feeding us
A measureless enclave.
What is a place
If not a placement of shapes,
Loops of forms, down, around …
Wood, metal, words, sound?
A seagull knows no hate,
Or human thought,
And knows no better
Than what it’s learning.
Sea floods, mazes of waves,
Evening candles burning.
