The squat pine in the swamp holds up its crown: a dark rag.
But what you see is nothing
compared to the roots, the widespread, secretly creeping, immortal or half-mortal
root system.
I you she he also branch out.
Outside what one wills.
Outside the Metropolis.
A shower falls out of the milk-white summer sky.
It feels as if my five senses were linked to another creature
that moves stubbornly
as the brightly clad runners in a stadium where the darkness streams down.