Nobody knows where words come from, or strokes of a paint brush.
The why – because.
The where – who knows.
Please remember me, says some little knave within the artist.
So out comes some purple.
And an idea like some purple.
A bougainvillea purple like no other.
Difficult to hang on to in imagination.
Contrast of leaf-flowers turning against each other in a wild show of depth.
Deep as ocean’s green.
Shallow as water’s deception.
Here they come again,
Like a child going back and forth on a swingset.
Each time up, feeling higher.
Each time back, like a groundhog day.
A trick of creation.