In plain view.
Prayer and ink, subtle imaginings entwine.
My desire to touch things intimately has
rekindled, lining my pockets in small
saffron whispers.
Fingers map the texture of new-made skin.
Tender embraces without reason, rocked
in slumber by fingertips, molded
between breaths, cast into finer image.
This yellow sheet of drawn words, traveling
streets and days with me, pocketed within
skin's warm stride. Remembering you.
Wandering familiar streets, names becoming
untied by winds, reading these tea-leaf stains
till words come, repeating sounds till
resonance lands on the page.
Journey's full-measure given reign.
In plain view I hold these folded pages
between fingers' circling touch, this fond
little alchemy moving unseen but listening.
A smile grows on my lips.
See what I've come to.
Movement for the joy of nothing.
Movement for a dancer's unvoiced name.
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