It’s the grass, you don’t notice but it’s uneven.
The life under a tough sun.
It’s been too easy to lie down, not take any of it.
A smoked out clarity as well.
And loud music always carries in these times.
Fire sits inside the wood, but it dies at some time.
There’ll be time, risen in air, breath of desperate ages.
For knowledge, you can still go there.
How I found out is skin, and underneath.
Nerves flower out bare need.
Sun sits on the air.
A day slowly wears and is moved by turn.
Clouds don’t need to know.
Raw being which moves.
Welcome to a new overlay.
And out there the valley knows nothing.