Perceptions

It flies past the waban roofwithout a soundwith the same slightvibrations as usualmelting in thin air

Indistinctly on that side of the mountainsunlight flows in all directionsBlue-green stone slabscrawl with insectsA folk song mesmerizesrising with the wet fogBlurred shadowsgradually disappear

In the eveningI open the heavy wood doorLooking out into the lonely skyI want to say somethingbut I can’t utter it