A Great Lament [Rev]

I talk to the trees - the Jacaranda’s blooming again,
and that’s far better than being ignored by my clan
where what I’ve said is rebuked, brushed away by a
surly colleague, when I’d turned a  merry-go-round
hands moving up & down like the horses, she took
command snorting: Imagine, becoming a carousel

Like the sea-witch Ursula my colleague thinks we’re
unfortunate souls because we are not as meticulous
as she - it’s sad, even the far-off stars ignoring me’s
better company than talking to someone who can’t
fathom the beauty of a dream & the magic imbued
in a carousel illustrating the Sagittarius arm stars

Spirals gambolling around a dark-hole vortex shining
with electrical power within darkness of non-existent
matter & invisible dark energy as electricity flows via
power lines so as to not electrocute living things; but
to come back to my lament, & a great lament this is:
I talk to the trees because the wind answers me by

Rustling the leaves, which is more a reply than I’d
receive from my over-zealous, dependable, noble,
brilliantly logical silent colleague - she can format
everything on screen – yet the carousel in my brain
remains untouched as if deemed bereft of sense…