Five tender apricots in a blue bowl, a brief and exact promise of things to come.
Poems give you the lives of others and then circle in on your own inner world.
There is no technique, there is just the way to do it. Now, are we going to measure or are we going to cook?
Where is it written that houses must be beige? Any dun colored house would look better if painted pineapple, cream, ochre, or even a smart sage.
May summer last a hundred years.
Any arbitrary turning along the way and I would be elsewhere; I would be different.