March 25 by The Running Son
Newly stretched canvases collect
Painted deserts sink,
and the wind streams whisk us off
to promised gardens where, with luck,
a soft copse of young Mulberrys’ll provide
loft to better view the pageant: low laying
participants buzz, achatter and primping
their primary pigments, and we’ll all scatter
toward these hearts, opening petals
and parting in slow CGI, special effects
provided by nature’s fine arts.
by Jim Aldrich (:
.namaste. -• ö.tH(ink)Mÿstiç •- .namaste.