Space never knew it was space, faint
and light thought no thoughts,
could not correlate stroke
nor shade. Paint knew
but could not say. Yellow
fancied the rules between thin
and wide. Some spark gave a hint
to life. Someone spoke of war, some
of scarcity, or sex. What is the stain
but the story? Awareness by the line
of the landscape, of the role it plays.
Composer, fan, and teller of things.