DNA, the vigor in the vine

Her voice sounds like it always did. She won’t age there..so small..he is attached to the attachments he creates when putting down the devices.. she is finding sleep and the word turmoil is a bucket, leaking its contents..they don’t keep plastics in the house.

It is a matter of a hand finding hers and the matter keeps his intelligence over his emoting. The equity in being that star burning to halt, burning to an age.. it is a revolution of burning to collapse. The equity in showing up, tracing her lines and swallowing the excess….she must remain whole.

He is struck, love the actor now, forceful in the ideation…striking down like molting and the trees are stripped of their palms.. handless still reaching..

If only her sigh didn’t mimic the arpeggios he played over and over again.. a meditation, sweeping the floor of his rebuilt automatomic design…. First finger is the third.. rooting.. laughter follows another sigh and back to the first

“I didn’t run off searching”…..eyes still searching.. “it’s all there in the photos, without destination I was never lost”…. “the wild starts where death dropped it’s grip, and we started our clinging”… “truthfully is there an excuse beyond the willing?”

When they lost control they found the wheel handled and in amazement and wonder..the land grew and the expanse was a heart shaped mountain range ..the valley wore the footsteps of the followers before them.. what they deemed manifestation was creation…a truth beyond their effort….like their blood it was DNA.. and it is shared---Moses in the Wild

Art credit: female nude ---Egon Schiele… Indian ink, watercolor, tempera