Once green leaves unfold

touched by light inevitable,

and the tumult of bulletins of war

is quenched by the streams

of food and fluids that trees use

to establish a firm dictate of spring,

then those with arms and bullets

are dislodged into an obscure abyss of

irrelevance and oblivion, from

which escape can only occur by 

pushing by press agencies.

Other forces are minute and unheard

yet unstoppable, such as time

and the sequence of seasons,

the need felt by birds to sing

in spring.

And here and now

I must give way, since no words

can catch this inner drive to

flourish and to follow the laws

of nature.

The path we might follow

runs back in time, where the past

has taken firm position, in anger

fuelled by neglect and

by being overlooked.

Photos and text by Drager Meurtant, April 2024