I don't know how I met you. Inspired.
It's like you appeared out of the thin air.
Newly created...

I held my own, just barley,
As you looked at me, across your dinner table at mid day or earlier.
Like it was early in the morning even though it wasn't.
Fresh and geeky, tidy and neat, And on a mission!
You smiled, laughed and winced in my general direction.
I answered your questions, one worded like.
You answered mine before I even asked, I was mystified.
You're like a feather, from a native chiefs head dress,
Dipped in ink,
Then blown onto a piece of paper made of pure flexible gold,
Written into existence by divine inscription.
Dawson Creek...

I made a sculpture. Five so far,
I cut my thumb, multiple times on this one, multiple times.
Sorry. To number five and to myself,
Bad skills, bad counter-pressure,
Blood, scars, band-aids.
Blood on five, scars on me,
Pouce Coupe...

Between for me equals the space between,
Between Dawson Creek and Grand Prairie,
Like Pouce Coupe, is "cut thumb", in french.
A mother tongue language of somewhere in me, undiscovered.
English is my Papa tongue, the language of, "let's get things done!"
Both pretty good. One definitely more productive! Go!
Pouce Coupe, the undiscovered middle ground.
A french name for an English town.
Pouce Coupe...

Like this sculpture,
Art from the space between, Like the memory of you,
My "lost" friends,
Memories like driving there and home again.
Through memory lane.
It's like Pouce Coupe, the memory of you.
Like the scar, the cut thumb, the memories good and all my bad.
And somewhere in between I'll meet you all again,
Most likely in "Pouce Coupe".
The unpredictable space between,
Pouce Coupe...