After ‘Lane with Poplars’ by Vincent van Gogh 1885
The pathway we trod and tread –
The roots hold hands – out – of – sight.
In some private affair – the poplars
Prepare for winters winter.
The village blind to this place and scene being
concerned with its own meaningless
Minutiae, stumbling. This golden age
Wondering as the child of Ovid’s Metamorphosis.
the earth is the same as soil as is air everywhere –
so they can meet and mingle and make whole
new worlds between these lifes connection
of all the invisible cities within this blue print of blood.
Evening light and the unwritten point between
Somewhere of two termini’s existence ever present.