Polyphonic Clay

Not at the door but at the window. Sitting not going, hovering over an airy threshold, an I-less eye looks out . . . looks in.




Ladders to a solar eye, staves to a scimitar moon slicing the nightsky open, spilling stars.




Sunflower soliloquies, dancing daisies, a cactus chorus in a vegetable comedy . . . Lost in succulent dreams, I wake up a riotous garden, my fluttering eyes bursting into flower.




Rocking at the edge, winding winding to spring out of myself into the faceless space beyond.




To stumble upon an undiscovered planet, one must still know which way is up.




Crossing a threshold, the current diverges – tomorrow explodes in a prismatic spray. Crossing back, the future eddies into a kaleidoscoping past. Cascading from threshold to threshold, he flowed on, flowered on – a chromatic river in full bloom.




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