rivers lead everywhere, little streams
being cute; their color
is no color. the trees rustle, but
not from wind or anything.
sound is impossible. weight puts on
weight; weight, weight, weight,
weight; nothing smaller
or bigger: the everyday experience.
comfort? the mossy rock
assertion- in true sleep,
i am among them, being
bobbed around, far away- a hopeless
far-away- from being introduced
to the invisible root.