The springs of Sprinklers
cascade from the sullen sky
The sound of rain as tears
means something different dear
In the early hours of evening
I sit myself near
Pebbles of wet thoughts and memories
A quiet lullaby
᯽᪥᯽🌼᯽᪥᯽
In this twilight hour
Am the witness
Of the watercolor war
Blues versus grays
Bleeding into each other
And I adrift in the mist
Am both lost and found
while painting
A solitary figure in a landscape
of fleeting thoughts sound ...