There’s this beautiful silence that begins every word.
It is a blank canvas.
If I allow myself the time to saturate in the words,
to marinate in the feeling, I admit, my colors spin more vividly on the page.
It’s as if I immerse my whole self, bodied, full
into the pool of language.
into the space of spaces, open to the air.
Such is water-color and a brush,
whole-heartedly dunked in hue.
But, if such a moment happens,
that I lapse in concentration,
the color spills out of bounds
and onto unintended pages. no longer vibrant, nor intentional.
but, sometimes, I’m much happier.