Sometimes it’s as if frames from two different films overlap. For a moment. Sometimes longer. Occasionally the overlapping images complement one another, but often the experience is jarring. Confusing. Unsettling.
Seasons bleed into one another playfully, testing our agility, our resilience. Far-flung geographies, domiciles, and life stages muddle, merge, and drift apart again. Our worlds intermingle. For a moment. Sometimes longer.
October Rain, Wordy
Tell me a story
of prism pocks on pears.
Sing me a song
of raindrops on apples.
Pen me a poem
of flickering daylight,
flirting with nightfall;
of sleepless longing
for toil-oiled muscles
and limber limbed spring;
of sauntering through
my cherished orchard
in sultry summer,
still oblivious to
the dreary drama
of October rain.
October Rain, Visual
Sometimes poetry leans on language, word bricks and word mortar, to sculpt a song or a story. Sometimes vision is enough to free the singing underneath…