The mind plays
the music
On the leaves of the cherry tree
and I
am also the keys
listening themselves
to existence
with the images
of all I am
Projecting on the screen
as backlight
to this projection
where things are
louder, sharper,
the easier to remember,
to think it wasn't me
thinking
but the thought
can be isolated
it doesn't have
to be love
undifferentiated,
The thought can blow
through the crispest of afternoons
as a question of itself,
answered
in all it is not,
the humming void
that is
the back yard, the neighbor's dog.
