Alphabet City

The brushstrokes for the bird
are those of the leaves

cc: CC '22

How many times
I have talked myself
out of euphoria

cc: CC '22

I try to create planes,
horizontal and otherwise,
upon which to ply perspective

at times I succeed in emulating 
the fantasy about me

I often lose my edge
in the wash

deluged, thus I fade

I once created light so real,
I cried

my shadows are surreal,
but they are convincing

I consider all things visible
along the banks, what's overhead,
and reflect those in the water

cc: CC '22

By the height of the crest of her wake,
and the ever-increasing size of her form,
I could tell we would soon collide