socrates is lost in anxiety
this is because of cold weather in may
and of today's cold philosophy
language braided with ivy
touches the streams of rain
clouds thunder, swelled with the wind
they breathe heavily with the smell of forsythia and lilacs
the pond swings a silver fir tree
in the cloud hidden thoughts of socrates
he was afraid of his own thoughts…
without touching the golden brightness
angelic paved the memory cells…
socrates was in the hospital
he returned
his heart now beats at an even pace
he made a fireplace burn again
the time of sunny spaces is coming
