I rarely see the Outside,
Too often nestled in my comfort
I have lost some haptic habits
Which has made me a wallflower
But the moment I step Outside
The sanguine air fills me up
The leaves dancing in the trees
Make a natural sort of girder
A canopy for me to walk under
And the animals ask all sorts of things
The birds sing me questions
A nearby quadruped propounds
A drink of water from the tarn.
And the sun is setting behind the lake
Its light of phantasmagoric qualities
And I feel new
