The birds fly, the aquatic bees cry, the trees shine and the atoms sing.

The calendrical blossoms under which I stand are stilled blue.

Inage.

Wherever could I be but in the song birds’ lives.

Forever they have sung me to sleep and awoken my grief.

Never have they failed me.

This evening I listen.

To the tiniest quarks.

In shrubbery and sky.

Highlight over my life.

Do they reckon?

Do they thrall?

They live.

Do they care?

I live ad nausea.

To have no time to care or sail?

I have no time and yet I do care.

For every atom that fails there is a song bird.

Singing to me for ever and ever until I return the compliment.

How many have passed before me that I am?

How many have passed away that I would be?

How many are we?

Infinite and ubiquitous and never atomised

Peace.

Will come.

When I sleep awake under the still falling petals of the blue tree.