Cold zephyr
flowers spiked upwards
cold zephyr stings the skin
when titmouse sits on a tree
a bumblebee flies nearby a window
non-existence was not long ago
emerging from nothingness
times known only from stories
that can be lies
colors of the world build identity
they pleasure with diversity
with perfection of composition
they hit the target
and mortals wander the world
they cast long shadows in the evenings
drink wine at the camp fire
always die