A slope of stillness and silence; scrub pines
well-spaced to respect each solitude; a few
slapped-down trunks mocked with minty algae.
The undercoat of long grasses,
a swaying lime-green mane;
wind that turns the pages rustling.
Two cabin roofs over the hillock,
huts abandoned by the fishermen:
human tattoos strewn
on the soft naked limbs of nature.
simple-answer’d bird hidden in the limbs
sings and makes nothing of.
Emptiness of the world like a house,
a house where the robbers have come and gone.
*Italics are scraps of King Lear