i see true beauty
when articles
become empty

of ideas, of metaphor
and anything but
sound. when i

read each iamb
and its sound pulses
through my temples

is not unlike how
i forget all ideas
when we walk along

and my mind rests in the
moment, as each step
surely presses ground

and blood pulses
through our hands,
becoming felt song

when sky is empty
above us, only air
and we are with nowhere

and the bareness of
meaning, pure lore
is breathing in beauty, truly.