isn't. Not yet in the editing phase. More like a salad being composed and the final touches yet undiscovered. In the doing, a poem like salad gets done. Gets served. Here the writing is on the inside of an eyelid -- sparks of light and luscious comforting graphite. Trust me, on the plate (not shown) there will be hue-vibrant tomatoes & yellow peppers. Perhaps, pea shoots.
SURFACES
ReplyDeleteThe railing on the deck splinters her hand
as she holds on to watch ships sail for ports
closed and worn out. The paint needs attention
again, the pine needles should be swept,
the feathers of a bird lay swiftly singing.