Kyoko felt with much certainty
that her dreams were petulant spindles
upon which the earth didn't spin
the stars were not watching
and the moon did not care.
when north winds bellowed, howling from arctic fronts
the chill was no different.
and her heart felt the same.
there was too much complacency in the smug maple trees.
so she picked up a handful of leaves,
took them home to wash, preen and eat
one by one
red rosy terra cota
and still she wasn't done
with the yellow gold umber
delicacy filled her mind with detachment
and still she didn't care.
a dizzying state of clouds and potential.
stuck on stasis. smiling to remove.
she wondered why the hills didn't talk
and hope felt the same as the lack there of.
her mind was a mist gathering cold
a moss gathering peat
plying for stiffness
intent on rock bottom.
with each fallen leaf, Kyoko would roar and shake up the trees
with a wind of indifference
it was terribly pure.
