The Soul of Real

In this time of infinite space 

I corral myself like cattle. 

Behind iron fences are cement walls.

I salivate futures beyond slabs.

Environment molds structure :

Unnatural becomes natural.

 

All things teem with Lenard Cohen's cracks

that ache for expanses the heart lives daily. 

It is my fingertips who doubt.

This Godly place is plain

where light's reflection's crystalline.

 

My current plant sees horizons

when structures finally crumble

so I've been holding my breath for years.

It is in this dizziness I see God's shimmer.

 

I know He exists in breathing too.