And in that mundane moment of utter grey sobriety, eager eyes parsing the soundless prayer of a million golden trumpet flowers swaying to the rhythm of a mute cerulean sky, does a mind pause in its jagged drift to question the wonder of being?
Is it incredulous to be alive inside that moment, in that place, in that particular yellow-blue trifle of infinity? When you could travel an entire lifetime and never reach the edge of time or of this illusory reality?
Can it be choreographed to that incalculably delicate detail, the dance of all that is, or is it just that chance meeting of restless chemicals that will mean something only when they are alone and perfectly still again?
over the empty sea
a breathless eagle searches
for a resting place