Point and Click

I take pictures of the universe,
snapshots with a wide-angle lens,
pictures that show me how
all the parts are related so I can
determine where I am standing.

Close-ups reveal the inner workings,
how bees kiss a flower or a snake
on a rock consumes the sun and I
am the camera that intrudes
into this intimate intercourse.

In the end, they are only still
pictures, soundless memories,
neurons clicking as they record
the frangible façade of life.


What Colour is Night?

Take the blue sky,
The yellow sun, the red sunset,
the cold white snow that blows
after green leaves turn brown.
Stir them into a pot of emotions,
pour the mixture over sleeping eyes
and you will not remember.
That will be the colour of night.


Who is Speaking?

It is madness,
the hearing of voices,
those inner vocalizations
and incoherent translations
of a confusing universe.

Mirrors can be useful
but they are mute
and full of extra detail
about flowers and rocks
that clutter the landscape.

But getting back to the voices.
Who is speaking? Who is
shaking the silent cage,
speaking in an antipodal voice
and confusing the cosmos?

If that voice demands praise
and singular adoration,
then it is surely madness
and one should focus
more closely on reflections.