Environment
Floating arms, passing clouds
a few stray words
a painting of the desert
a world different from ours
dim and uncertain
and then an enormous, impenetrable
forest, somewhere
a howling Indian witch-doctor.
Floating arms, passing clouds
the stream of things their own way
a transparency before you know
you breathe before you have time
to sing
of your passing
...like coffee... : )
I love this poem especially the first part. It gave me a quickening in my soul.