I am
a modest attempt,
a collection, no, a collective.
A living gallery of all
sponge-like
I take in.
Literary here, philosophical there:
melody, handicraft, tang, flora, fauna, story,
a sensorium
splattered Pollack-like,
bound, wound
seared through in tightly
tethered verse & prayer.
Words, always words
set forth
rising up
bled and burnt,
habitually expanding,
mend-making,
holy and wholly new.
Pleasing aroma.