the divine echoes of a lawnmower
primeval and sonorous
dragging down with it the bone
the flesh and memory to dinosaur dawn,
to endless wastes of windswept (h)arbourage
and in the piping of their cousins
little competition with
the sound of sempiternal µ
a quiet that tears through the veil
transcends our inner voices
drones through the life of cicadas
and sapient simians alike
and in the reverberating rapture
of copulating Nut and Geb
a wandering mythology bestows
serene silence and the smell of cut grass
Joris Lemoine 