Primary manifestations
of secondary thoughts,
my colours all bleed into one.
Letting the sun's heat saturate
the pondering of pores
and the contrast of thought is gone.
Such is the richness of colour
I have no want to mix
but to bask in vividity.
Yet a citrus drop on my tongue
in nectar hydration
heightens my stroke's lucidity.
So I let the tool fall freely
as the waves roll in eights
and the skimmed stone ripples sixes
but then a cloud conceals the rest
and the tide's creeping in
until all my colour mixes.
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