Vast arrangements of breathable objects.
Look and appear, to be odd.
As though, they and I do not belong.
All is white…other than, a sparse tree.
So what does the distance…truly, mean?
When prayer and amen, subside.
Amassed ivory towers remain on the scene.
Optimism, in such a thunderous storm?
This could only be a fool’s pipe-dream.
With everything, in an arctic, oblique, stand still.
And, the movable seeming so odd.
Appears so though, breathable objects and I, do not belong.