billyfivecrows

july

The physics of a dove. Of
Lonliness now pourous. Of
Balance waited upon
By balance. Of umbrella

And tired right shoulder. Left
All the weeds in a pile.
Walked an entire mile

Upwards. (Ivory
Is ground into
Pigment. Honey

Looks like gold
To the starving soul
In poverty. Drawing

White on white
Dries light

In the
Sunlight. There is

No true
North. Water

Is intoxicant, drowning
With life; now

Swimming through
Air, impatient

Wife. Small figures

Carved with a
Knife

Fly upward from
A wire, the sky

Lights a fire...)


...

It's bedtime. Early painting and packing.

in love,

me