The Japanese Oak stood pink and blooming
waiting for another taste of photons and
dreams of immortality from writers under
its light branches. I hope that it judges me
kindly, having seen and heard more then
I’ve ever thought a living being would.
The chairs have eyes, but no life.
Am I the only one who hopes that
living our lives under dentric gaze
means we are not alone?
No comments:
Post a Comment