the hours

Here where time is limitless

I hear the sound of nature screaming

and hours are not hours

like music or my own sound

Here where winds are rare

and Life is restless, I run 

these fields in search

of something

I stay but I could go

I pause and pay attention:

is there something inside

which is me?

For here is the landscape

of muteness, of nothing

but all alive and vital

for life and Life again

returning