thoughts are constricted, the breach to freedom is the tree falling in the forest

no one hears
“Yes” – reverberating through the photons
the granular medium not deep enough

tears are confined, the riverbed is grim with false determination
determined variables slip out of their values

the tree falls, about to hit the ground, the air, falls again

until I see

sound subtly escaping from underneath the swing of time, visibly

too optimistic for the faint of heart, the skulls are waiting to be cleaved
words won’t spring from them

the tapestries have always covered the floor, now that I fall
“No” – distance at all
a useless concept crosses the mind more often

beaks begin ticking the shell; eventually everything will flow