Tangerine skies
And indigo blues
Fuschia resentments
Manifesting per truce
Buttercup yellows
Gin and vermouth
Violet in flowers
Pink blush and rouge
Magenta and navy
Lilac and rose
An entire rainbow
Right under your nose
Tomato and taffy
Black, plum, and sage
Purple and turquoise
Jump off the page
Ocean and cobalt
Beige, coral, and wine
These are the colors
That I find divine

The courage to encourage
(‘tis no accident the overlapping
of these two words)
<•>
tilling the fields of beautifully
and freshly seeded words,
gift wrapped in the essays
of the experimenting,
carefully and carelessly toe dipping
in the tooling of shapes and paintings sourced from a mere handful of
twenty six water colors,

in fresh water streaming waterfalls of:
knew
new eyes
new words
newly hewn
combinations

all
upon the early morn bluey sketch,
against a noisy background of a new day’s
first blushing

when the rested brain is so, so
receptive to newness,
itself a word of a
délicieuse lovely phonic
mouth treat

at 6:35an
on an ordinary Thursday

and now an
extraordinary Thursday,
when my inbox of old eyes
is delighted
and crinkly smiling
at the enduring uncovering
of
daring,
earning while yearning,
poets eager to give us freely
the first fruits of
their  hybrid creations

makes an old man
weep new tears,
to accompany
him till the end
of the day,

each tear a diatom of lace upon
an endless river of,
well,
the everything,

a knitting of letters
flaring up with a robust,
Hey!

I am here,
I am aborning

so glad to make your acquaintance
    


                     nml

Winged thing,
bruised blueprint,
longing inked into bone—
how does the sky taste
when you flee instead of follow?

I have seen you—
a breath stolen mid-exhale,
a contradiction unraveling,
a hymn hummed through clenched teeth.
you call it survival.
I call it the ache of knowing
you were never meant to land.

what is wisdom
but a body fluent in exile,
a home that never stays?

tell me—
when the air stills,
when silence sutures your shadow to the dirt,
will you miss the flight,
or
only the myth of almost arriving?