She stirred it.
d smith kaich jones, in lower case whispers, in truth and mirrors:
“there are days I don’t write because (very small voice)
sometimes I don’t believe“
It begins innocuously.
It builds surreptitiously.
It ends perniciously.
A slow drip from a leaky faucet.
A Drip. Drip. Drip.
The Drops splash on cool stainless steel.
From Drops. To Rain. To Tsunami.
Now Paralyzed by its immensity,
you stare at the blinking cursor,
and find Yves Klein‘s deep deep blue of emptiness.
The Sails lie flat,
the Ship is adrift.
You wait for tailwinds.
You Wait, for Words.
Image: Cloudair (Dead calm, Atlantic Ocean, Canary Islands)