Not a productive day, one of slow steady toil. These past few weeks have been notable for lonely periods, which are good for creativity. The time for more painting is to come. Tonight, a poem came to me.
Somewhere Out There
Somewhere out there is a world, to touch.
Close and ubiquitous.
Humming with people,
emotions, an engine of activity and love.
Somewhere there is a place,
of warmth and comfort.
A web of answers, thoughts,
and liquid perceptions.
Silent peace.
The tears of sleep.
There is something more than surfaces,
and objects,
and temperatures,
and rigid data.
More than words.
More than mere words.
I know it is there,
near,
somewhere.
