Seeing: A stem holding tight to its directive, bending against elemental imperative, bobbing, then releasing millennia of scheming to the Fates in a breeze that situates mysteries
Feeling: Within the infinitesimal slice of time this pen tip dragging from left to right to rhyme across paper, significance waning, magnificence draining, and the gleaming gesture of the miracle of molecules arcing from river to sky and back again, tumbling through the page, and the age, and the wailing
Saying: The clear line of this message directed, becoming these words selected. We are Earth walking. Our veins the water rippling. Our limbs the ocean drifting. Our minds the mist lifting. Our skin the flower gifting. Our hearts the dove nesting. Our souls the Hondo vesting.
No. I’m not sorry if I poked too hard from this moment to yours. Someone had to break the ice.