Clairvoyant Landscapes Moving-Yet-Frozen

Give-me-a-paintbrush to define poetry all movements of a riverbed reflected give-me-a-pen inks-flowing subjectively. I'll show you spotted salmon swam swimmingly to climb out the furthest-deepest-falls. A poets-like a woodlouse's gnawing away at life, from the marrow inside-out what he builds places us in the quivering air. A bridge over the void of space like a spider weaving her web to snare. Poets tend to live in Blue-John mines in some mystical crystal hermits cavern listening to the lapping of spring waters they're like remote smokestacks lingering on clairvoyant landscapes moving yet frozen.