In which Carrie finds a reflection…
Watching small calderas pool with rimmed yellow pollen which I was celebrating the other day as trees having sex while my nose overflowed from reaction; but who is to say that they are not miniature volcanoes there since human activity mirrors those of nature in the ordering.
A symbol in mathematics spoken perfectly or a wild pour of concrete on dust. Whoosh. Spatter. It is a new mountain range I must cross as though the warrior ant. I cannot understand these things, they are made by others, others who are like me but unlike me in understanding. A berm near a river, also I must cross. I am small and easily maneuvered.
Rain billowing its own composition altering the landscape so slowly like regeneration of code. Evening spreads its cool nothing over a landscape made for wandering. The concrete subsides slightly with the weight of the water while the pollen rests with the wicked.