Smelling and Seeing the Brightness of the World

I smell the freshness of 
                        uncut spruce 
                        un-trampled snow
in the whiteness all around me.
The hard freeze has piled 
                         high the world.
          I dare not crush it 
          less it reek
of cat piss 
and gasoline.
             Have I gotten 
                          too close
                            or
                                     too far?
The world is
            too fragile
              to be
                    h
                      e
                        l
                          d.
Soaked in the river
                    its green
                    never truly turns
                                     b
                                   l
                                 a
                               c
                             k.
Yet holding it
              and having it
                           again and again
                               in thought,
                                in memory,
e   r   o  d   e    s
                      all to
                             (invisibility)
as if 
     every feather, 
                   bone,
                        twig
                       became
                      (
                             ).
                            


                                                       
                                                    
Note:
The invisible bright words in the final parentheses                                                          
are:
too bright 
  to see.




  

                                    

—————————————————————-
For those few who wanted to know what a more serious version would look like, here it is:

I smell the freshness of 
     uncut spruce, 
     trampled snow
     in the whiteness 
     all around me.

The hard freeze 
     has piled 
     high the world.

I dare not crush it 
        less it reek
        of cat piss 
       and gasoline.

Have I gotten 
too close
     or 
too far?
                                    
The world is 
     too fragile
     to be held.

Soaked in the river 
     its green never
      truly turns black

Yet holding it 
     and having it 
     again and again
     in thought,
     in memory,
     erodes all to
     (invisibility),

as if every 
feather, 
bone,
twig,

became 
(too bright 
to see).


Let me know which version of this poem you prefer in the comment section. Is it better serious or both serious/parody?