angels here appear
in the form of lawn mowing men
silent observers with loud machines
probably drinking beer
these gifts of yours
nurturing and making
me disappear
in tender banality
along the channel we walk caring
carrying a boat of seven tons
in a seventy degree angle
to the ground
surfaces of these waters
suspiciously calm shivering
in ambivalent flatness
tortured by a thought
in a vortex
of enlightening and panic
born almost naked
and filled with heat
liberation embrace me shortly
with the smell of addictions
in the moment of expansion wondering
if I should if i knew if it makes
this nest of a spider
and the hungry muskrat watching
birds feeling accompanied
by touching cells going cosmos
