Sky and shell and stone

I must, have painted the sky
Or if not me, someone else
In daubs of black, and moving lines
With that sidelong perspective 
That goes
from a starred point, to almost forever

Travelled a thousand miles
(Because almost nothing poetic can be heard
in the brute and wearying sound
of hard kilometres
– except
that too savage tintinnabulation)
Only to find
The ground is more difficult here
Than all previous history’s 
Inflorescences, gradually pressed
To the sandstone of
Inexplicable striations

Life is a coincidence 
Like the face of god you thought you saw
In a snail shell’s jagged lines
Gone with a second glance
And, perhaps, not really there at all