because the wind grows my nails
I sit this evening
on the ledge of an ancient
mystery
the rain is the dream of the present
the noise of rock
of my bones –
penumbra is the rejoining of fragments
in this quiet atmosphere
speech is green grass returning
to the distant seed
because the wind has fed from
these thoughts of dimension
I am bottom
of the
pendulum life
Modern Poetry
Beyond Language 
I love the way you juxtapose contrasting elements…something that makes your poetry simultaneously complex and simple, nihilistic and enlightening, ancient and modern.
“speech is green grass returning/ to the distant seed”…awesome!
Thank you, it was a bit of an experiment. I’m glad you liked it!