Wide flecks and sprayed splashes
this is how she sees the world
movement in dashes
spattering sponge
When the wind blows
there is no season that isn’t full of fluttering brush
though the current of her eyes may catch blotched beauty that for most lays dormant and still
each motion of seemingly idle life lights up the dark
Whether it be leaves or dust
seashells or sand
lilies or moss
fossil and ash
cloth and food
keys and secrets
she moves amongst people and things that surround her as a dancing warrior charmed
the color of mistral skill trailing behind
insight warm
conviction cold
inspiring reflection in some
internal distress in others
When the wind blows with knowing
catching her hair with calm
easing the arms and legs of her frame into the air of beauty and blemish
there is no season in which the depths of life do not begin to gather round like a sash of autumn against a white summer dawn
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For more of Grant Hope, you can find books, audio visual poetry, and his “Poetry Respite” newsletter at his website: granthopestudios.com