Catalyst

It’s evenings I like least,
light a solid object
Lingering sense of otherness
A dull ceramic clink, like bricks
Being stacked most pungent
After removal deeper into darkness
Sedation begins to wear thick
Increasingly irrelevant variations
Between revolving doors
And taps
And fans
And insects
And paper

He was the restless provoker of storms
On a day when the heavens were quiet,
He decided to create havoc, for the sake of proving his power.
He blew and blew until he made a monstrous wind ,
destroying the masterpiece.
She was too shocked and saddened to do anything,

There are difficulties of translation.
Philosophy expressed by pathways
In the picking up and putting down of stone
Around the bowl; towards and away

Bitter compensation of this pulse