yes it does, sir.
there is something of somethinng around us. within us. between us.
a something of something. heard sometimes in the sound of one instrument at play.
there's a brilliance and a death in each note that vibrates off the string into the wind. into the breath of the wind like a sigh. it precipitates on our perceptions, unnamed.
resolution building like white cumulus clouds above city skylines. stone and steel. above platforms and pedestrians. stonewalks and fountains. above pidgeons and passerby to be.
building more mysteriously than the unseen pressure of air that builds over idle sunporch afternoons.
can you /sirs/ appreciate poetry ultimate or?
this is not mine but i wish it was. i feel their words