on the eves
when my paintbrush
runs out of strokes,
colour,
fluidity.
I doodle
in words.
and find that again
I am painting,
loving,
making
flower work.
art is a consummate
master
of my soul
on the eves
when my paintbrush
runs out of strokes,
colour,
fluidity.
I doodle
in words.
and find that again
I am painting,
loving,
making
flower work.
art is a consummate
master
of my soul