The field in my memory wakes itself aroused by the horizons anxiousness across and around the surfaces skin

is the flesh of the firelight of the sun I am in its midst it is whispering Something that makes no sense to anyone About what it is is exactly clear that we belong to its inspiration Were it a father we are his children Or if a mother, we are her offspring Confirming what it reveals appearing In other words it is as immanent As the sky which is blue which is transparent and Is what it is because it isnt