and the pull to nature. A spiral in the making. In the intention. Forests in the seas. Interconnected and not letting go. I'm thinking of kelp. But not for breakfast. I'm thinking of kelp & a line for a poem. Begin as I usually do -- with breakfast. And if there be a line, it will (as most do) curve.
What if a detective turns out to be a poet, or vice (!!) versa?
ReplyDeleteEach notation is both a confession and an accusation. The layers of time, that which is past and present, become confused and interchangeable. Persons of interest tangle in a mixed-up palette. Every clue is an invasion. One's deductions about others is a mirror of one's own emotions.
Picture then the poking around, the investigation, as it becomes poetry. Or reportage as selective word play. Even a detective must color the facts, eh?