FULL MOON ON TOP OF A CHAMPAGNE PALM'S TIP

without
words the river speaks
the clouds
speak the language
of clouds,
it is me,
that hears and gives
meaning
to me,
the heart speaks
no language
but which the mouth
translates
into words...
i can't escape
philosophizing,
full is the heart
but its language
is
still aided by
words

the feathers of the
chicken are doing
the philosophizing
apart from
the bone
of poetry

if i remove all of them
the lark will
be stark
to look at,
and no one wants to
have it
or even
see it

under the sun
where the chicken
pecks on
our grains of rice