perhaps today

i shall pick up the brush

and paint a portrait of myself

in paradise


wash the canvas

with the colors of a meadow

and paint myself

as beauty


deep within its peace

i’d step  

my fallen veil

billowing behind

as i enter


lightly would i tread

my hand upon the fabric of my skirt


so that nothing would be torn


my feet, naked, nimble,


the dampness of the soil

from which beauty blossoms                                                        



its fragrance unto me

as my fingers glide  

across its surface


then, suddenly i’d wing

sustained by graceful currents


within this flowing tapestry


until i’d be discernable

no longer

rather one note in this song

that no one else can hear


although they see the dance

as it flows

across the watercolor stillness

that i am


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