play and purpose, poetry and painting

Toes in rabbit holes,
solid ground under heels.

Lost in rhythms of strokes,
tinted sloshing wave peaks.

Wrestling edges where
shadows meet vibrant light.

Moist roots, lashes touch,
in mystery of night.

Tangled release reveals
forms, shapes, and matter.

What could come to exist
that already hasn’t?

What is mine to wrestle?
What is mine to release?

What is life without product or impact,
the cost of my peace?

The question rhetorical,
drama, vague, and abstract.

The song of my heart
vivid, alive, and concrete.

post #271