silver room

in a forest that is scattered
in the name of one's art,
stands a stoic bamboo house,
dedicated to the heart,

its hands stretching out,
piercing the sky.
whilst its silver complexity
is blinding the eye.

an enigma, it holds
in the darkness of grip
a crystal is hidden

in its echoing pits.

its rays bursting out
from the cave,

in the morn.
abandoned,
in green,
in the breeze, 

in the storm.

​

- tt. n 2018