In The Middle

We stay close
Bunched up
Grains of sand
On a lonely beach

It drives us mad
This closeness
Transforms us
To lash out
As rattler’s broods

The engine of progress
Its constant drone
Inescapable
Replaces
The music
Of a gentle brook
And the rustling
Of deer moving
Quietly through
Forest’s timberland

So confusing
This voice
That perpetually
Reminds
Of such lovely consciousness
Reminds
Of unknown places
Asking, begging
To be discovered

Diptych – (2) 12″x12″ oils on canvas
I’m sure there are places where the drone of freeways are non-existent.
Where the wind passing through the trees is an event.







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