Not when it combines with water.
Or with wind.
Then it flows like water.
With a spring of light added to it.
We begin here in this land. Then we go further.
We could abstract straight lines from this landscape, but then we’d make our poetry out of emotions about the world, instead of reading the world in its own forms.
In the end, we wouldn’t be at home in the world.
We would call this beauty.
Instead of living in it. This is not nature.
It’s time to come home…
… to the flow.