Like floating sparks that pop the air

every image
explodes
a cloudofpoesiepercepts,
slaking orbits in a shifting lapse
of brownianmotioned tints
that catch their layered in-betweens.
Concentric wisps of taling trails
track a faster space of time than thought,
faster than the time of words,
each unthought thought
caught within
the recombining (k)nots
that prose a plane.
When language reigns
pinklightninghailstonesandfog,
a double rainbowed furystormofpeace
reframes
a sense of place
and fixes myoldfriend rouault
to his relentless time and pace.


"Anyone can revolt. It is more difficult
to silently obey our own inner promptings
and to spend our lives finding sincere
and fitting means of expression
for our temperment and our gifts." (Georges Rouault)