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.