I keep my ideas

Like butterflies on strings;

 

Like night owls in the sky

Lined up on cables,

Departing strand by strand

At the rising of the sun;

 

I keep them

Like the lines in my skin

Of these embrioded human hands,

Touching ink to paper,

Or practicing alchemy to

Teach the stones to talk.

 

I ask them to show me

Spirals of beautiful things;

To show me another thread

I can stitch under my skin.

Then will I be Art?