“Nature was no longer a thing to be discerned darkly but now
was a generative force.”

While deciduous trees shed their colors, the wave-lengths of
galaxies distant from our local address, are color-coded blue,

red, green transients traveling without lanterns, shadows
who are blind to their own darkness, liminal space within
which art paints a temporary place.

Canvas, screen or sprawled across a floor. A symphony
whose strings can't be heard; lyrics that are speechless,
poems that will never be read.

Was there ever a hero named Odysseus? Or a god who
has never been dead?