if you feel not in control-

you are the paintbrush and
the world is the canvas in
which you paint.
with words, with actions
with thoughts, with everything.
if I am the paintbrush,
then who or what is the artist
painting ?
is it me ?
is it you ?
is it us ?
could it be everyone ?
do I allow you to use me ?
to write what it is
the audience so pleases ?
and are we all paintbrushes ?
and, if so, is each to a collection
of which is the art ?

where is the source of your ink ?
for a pen is like a brush.
and what pictures are drawn from it ?

and how do you love ?
is it so openly a suggestion
you breath it out like air ?
you breath it in like perfume ?

well, the woods are starting to burn again,
and I can not deny that it smells fantastic.