We are all artists, of course
There is a wonder in our simplicity
That brings forth pity in our complexities.

Yet, the sun dances each day—I have seen,
And the tide does sing to you and me.

I wake certain that I am no more a lover
Than the roots of my willow risk
Scraping the sky.

I have come to fight
Yet my white flag flutters spectacularly.

Is it not art?
When secret new beginnings and damp hearts glimmer brilliantly.

Is it not art?
The clarity we embrace falling from our pedestals.

I let it ruminate in my mouth.
I let it burn in my chest.

Falling over and over into myself.

a.k.