— vi taler om naturen
—still, this sweetest fragrance of an undisturbed spring
many souls the sailor is explaining; everyone contains many the sailor doesn’t say souls or define it more than many she shows how stars fall/descent from the universe solidify into clusters that then shape themselves into many souls you can see each soul contain the melting shapes of the stars and that they forget their oneness and melt into entities that has an outline that fit the ones they were made along side with so that solidified souls of personhood contains many and would fit next to the ones they’re shape with they wouldn’t stay this shape throughout living but…
recognize accents; thick local american (and utes, paiute, goshute) tourists too. then receiving the (communion of) light then the deafening pain of rejection recalling the dead departed; the ones who went on with others what can be trusted; the breath, the breath the breath and that time passes leaves traces deliver you at your mountains of sorrow to hike; ascenting; a solitary creature vertiginous as if leisurely slow; dizzying/dismembering sights and abysses, and what else can you do than take it all in; bask in the beauty of being among the living
mirth zealand’s orchards failing this year, from late frost in may. then heatwave — even still/especially; (pay attention to) the mirth of basking in this sphere, together
(wearing) obscenely lush lavender scent as a space helmet or perhaps hallow upon landing, in the city every cell; all cytoplasm, nucleus and the breath unsure as to why we’re here recalling or summon; the arctic the arctic the arctic
yes, the swifts have arrived with their gorgeous scream i read their latin name, derived from greek means ‘without legs’ that they’ll live for a week without food, if needed that their youngs will enter hibernation state to survive and delay their feather growth while undernourished later their bodies can carry them 70 mph, covering 200,000 mi yearly. they will be on their wings for ten months migrating — sleeping in air
— bliss, as your indigenous soul
du drømmer rovfugl lægger sig om din hals som en krave og spinder i dit øre — hvem er din bedste ven?
ørken mine is sleeping tulips.