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.