My life only has meaning
in as much as I draw lines
around my being and in
those lines, sometimes faint
sometimes strong, there is a
shape and a pattern that
I hold onto that gets me
through each day and night.

So, it’s me that has to draw
the lines and find the pattern
and makes sense of this existence
in the swirling leaves of life’s
movement, attended by celebration,
death, pain, love, and rejection.

The patterns can become all too
familiar and beyond the staleness
and boredom, I seek the fresh
and the hopeful as new patterns
that lift this tender dot of time
in which I paint something
meaningful, even without meaning.

 

10/1/2024