Penblossom

Blank, lined page.

Day 6

Her tilted head held em’rald eyes; her countenance – false-furrowed. Her mouth mixed signals: hold, unstable frown!

I see that neither muse nor pen is spent.

“Avast!” the axe-fall blade, abrupt, demanded death-industrial: it called, it falled, found its fortune to be laid upon the wharfway stone.

The past: t’was present, as the present: t’was pushed passed. The world: t’was floating ‘midst the passing future.

The girl knelt and stared at the grains, all gathered, of the hot, compacted sand, lowering her right hand slowly t’ward its canvas-surface.

Should old acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind…

Ten days beyond a city sunrise.

山は安いです.

A water flower.

Leaves; grass.

Grass; sky.

The footfall flux meanders.

The Trow’s resuscitated – see the blackwhite gable draped along in hanging baskets.

Lapped at by the coursing mirrored-sky.