Small and delicate slender grace,
movements capture splendid forms.
légers coups de.
In clay urns buried beneath the soil,
gliding on the surface of colours
with the light of sky on a palette.
romolinos de colores de la mezcla,
swirling colours mix,
tourbillonnant mélanger les couleurs.
Explode and seep into the roots,
moments captured forever in these hues,
transform this fluid pattern permanent.
Sable hair blends and sways.
*This is an old poem I wrote back in August 2010. (Yes, I did change some of the punctuation a bit). That’s when “The Big Tent” was still alive and kicking. I have meet some wonderful people from there.
Many things influenced this writing:
Death and cremation, and being an artist