Stillness beats at tree and sky
Where finer things sit bare, on
Moments standing humbled
By an echo in the air.
No time for tongue to pulse and grope
At fret or plucks of scorn
As truth has earnest company
When conscience walls are torn.
Its effortless communion
Not one cell tunes away.
That simple breath inhaled, where
Eternal strikes its day.
Kimberly Jean Fiske
The Artist
The Hand takes the brush
to the colour I see,
And the canvas evolves
as a part of me.
I see where I’m going
I know where I’ve been,
I want now to paint
to invite you in.
The hand of the woman
that brings you to me
Is the heart of the woman
I want you to see.
Sharon Cordes Okrasa
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