there is no way, impossible, to capture the fine single threads required to weave a tapestry of bold and delicate intertwined, of depth and surface, of a droplet of water shining outstanding in a sea of harsh blather.
there is bold, there is pale. they can coexist, perhaps even heighten each other.
but subtle is a delicacy, a single thread, a standard rarely achieved.
which is why this poem makes no pretense at subtlety.
a wonderful double entendre for it’s time, my internal clock chiming
to sally forth and give the due to where dew in her garden resides, poetry becoming sweet tears in all our eyes when the philipina rain thirst quests our quenching
there is no reason no request for this sally poem but a tickling thought suggests that a good friday. could be the trigger, or that pandora bringing me Ave Maria as I compose when the due and the dew and the do are a trinity
the best poems are the un-requested but the most needed, the most holy