I stood on the shores of a rippled thought
Watching colors change form
Beyond their norm
A synchronicity of hues
To cleanse the board
Of words.
Wiped away, the water colored streaks ran down
Gravity the agent
Of where the things move
Settling deep in the cracks
Into the creases of a full mind
And with a finger dusting a space
A clean me sign perhaps
And I watched it, waiting
For something, anything to come up
Like a suffocating fish that rises
It knows where to find the key
To live,
To breathe in the life force of a sentence
A quote
And lyric or melody
But the blank board sits mocking
And I see it then,
There doesn’t Have to be Anything,
It is perfect in the absence or presence
It is waiting there for the touch of chalk,
Of paint,
Of a simple thought to create
And there was in each pot a color swatch
And adding a bit of water life
The hues ran up, then downward in waves,
Streaking across like a pale sunset lost
Amidst the glory of bubbling clouds
Content within
That it became.
