Through the tall seeds of wood;
blood vision / / fog withered eyes;
my focus flags and drabs of grey
stitch a tea stained map to my hand.
Ardency quelled in my heartwork;
my brush dried with the sunburst.
the skitter-skat scratch of
my paint on the page;
a stick figure graces
on vellum page.
This is my map,
this is my wayward wind.