time sits condensed like grandpa’s old Valvoline tucked under the back porch steps
i’ve flown away from my soul this morning before the hummingbird came to mourn
the landing will happen later today when Ursula preps her beet salad i think that’s when it will happen
nodding trailing sinking from the surface tadpoles file in and soon enough will leap with a part of me
there i am i will paint now i can’t catch myself but there’s a little blue pain that aches to be laid out on rice paper from the kitchen drawer
words less spoken 
Always a delight.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you 😊
LikeLiked by 1 person
Always unique and brilliant.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much for visiting friend xo
LikeLike
mb, this comment is actually a response to the following post, “lava rocks”, but for some reason the comment section is not available to me, so I backed up to here: You are incredibly deft with your imagery and I truly admire your precise word choices…
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you Brian 😊
LikeLiked by 1 person
Your last verse… The same way I feel about my paperless slab of fog butter. Authentically mesmerising 🙏
LikeLiked by 1 person
Sorry typo… Fig butter… Lol!
LikeLike
Thanks for visiting Gina xo
LikeLiked by 1 person