In my turn, the time, that has no hold on me–
Perhaps I should hang out in a nice recycled clear glass bottle; beside a tree; close to a little brook with riffles; that has a long view of a verdant valley.
My inkwell is clear so I could mingle with ink; be part of a love poem; a last will and testament; official nuptial document; or child’s first practice with a pen.
I see the image shared that at once; I shall never see yet remember then when coldness shall come; aware I am transformed cosmic though I do not recollect a womb-life; as yet I cannot conceive life ongoing then that very thought aspiring is the root of all hope and exploring.
–so go I direction and destination unknown my hand upon the rudder.
03 June 2018
Thank you “poetryfromtheinkwell”