How We Are Able to Stand

A stream of ink
links me to the past.

A river of words
deep enough to float you to me.

A fountain of faith
spritzes me in proximity.

A brook of rejuvenation
soothes me into deeper meditation.

A tributary of wisdom,
homage to the coming sea.

An ocean of inspiration,
buoyancy a destination.

A puddle of pride,
I'm smiling down, inside.
Murky but it still has view.
Trickling knowledge, overdue.

Fast or easy,
small or wide,
poems water the flora inside.

Artwork: It's Only Chaos If You Don't Know The Dance Angela Fehr


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