The Forgiveness of Willows

THE FORGIVENESS OF WILLOWS When you blend your perspective, blue or brown into a thousand overlooks full of sound, contrasting nobody against white sky tornados, you get a sense of place exploding from underground. You do not have to believe the earth knows its pressure; you can feel it in your dreams when your face hides inside a train station where God once sold blue and brown eyes for souvenirs to unsuspecting tourists. If I could grant you one wish, I would wave my hand across the sky, shoo the devil out of the way with his costly expressions of lost desires, and say, you now own one grain of sand, precious like breath rising from your lungs across unseen space below your dreams. Make a wish. The grain of sand belongs to you. Come to the edge. Stand beside me. Ask yourself why the forgiveness of willows runs so close to the stream. NOTE: I asked ChatCPT-4 to generate a simple image based on the content of this poem. The image took less than a minute to make. Damn, I wish I could draw like that, but alas, I'll have to stick to stifk figures and abstract colors.