Speaking softly on paper
realizing my comfort.
propped up feet crossed as they are snug in my red quilt.
when i think about it there has always been a quilt.
baby pink. now red. stitched from the older generation
letting my pen flow
harboring passing glimpses as they are set out to sea.
wishing them well as if they are my own.
my thoughts. divine language.
cursive not print. sacred movement and shape
Demanding to be seen. heard? no. forget the mind
left out in the dark wandering in the damp understory
of the conscious. reaching deeper on another level.
spontaneous motion awakens soul. spirit.
splattered onto the paper. dark against light.
fearful in the next popping image.
i look away yet my mind is at a stand still.
living and breathing in this space. yes.
continuing tomorrow. Streaming, screaming
Farewell friend, until then.