Space is zero as it drips
down the leg of time,
the same thing they say but
what do they really know?

I was thinking, in my body
as my mind refused. It was
a passing thought that passed,
gone down the line, without me.

Green shoots pushed yellow flowers through the gravel.
A scouting expedition from the underworld.
What could they see? Soles? Sky? Tomorrow?
Each petal an obelisk to time.

There was a moment
or there were moments, I am not sure,
but then again, are you, and of what?
I have lost my thread. I unravel.

Not much is what it seems as it depends, they say, on where you are standing.
That involves a place in space, so
I must concur that
it does depend, if at all, upon when you are standing.

Gray stone and green shoots, yellow silly flower insouciant in the sunlight.
Where do they go at night?
I know they migrate because at night I cannot see them.
And they observe children concerning permanency of objects!

Mind heart eyes flower stone green
Space is time is space.
Does it matter it is Spring?
I am surprised, but I think it does not.