Born at place I never charted its veins how otherwise is to discover when roots can’t find ground. When I visit the scenic palette of my artbrush trudges never beginning or ending, the Sun over horizon. Mellifluous tone of our chatter and koo koo spread over summer in deep red blush settles on canvas and on choices life can make.
Prose poem “Hometown Visit”
Some days are spent discerning as stems from coriander leaves (grown here) that the word calla epistemologically came from lilies and why is it too unpleasant to talk whether one should confront with nonexistent noun form of an adjective.
cotton rolls of big clouds briefly over me rain