From the Cracks and Empty Places

On a small terrace
made of laid brick
leaves and twigs lie motionless
but for the coming and going
of the wind.

From the cracks
and empty places
between the perfect latticework
of red geometry
stalks of tender grass extend,
still
but for the coming and going
of the wind.

Green moss
and little green blades
reach for neither pattern
nor order,
yet achieve perfectly
the nothingness
for which they grow.

Consistency falls into
inconsistency,
oraganization into chaos,
life into death,
and we,
while living,
would surely seek
a linear course
but for the coming and going
of the wind.