chaotic colour

after a while these crocuses will become mundane ...


but when spring starts they are the first to come out and share their colour


bob writes a pattern of communication beyond mere literal translation


where the water ripples as if to wink an eye atop a rock below and a stick turned up by the flow of reflections breaking light into smiles

recurring patterns
inside a painted
foreign landscape
marred by pollution
make a sound
not unlike
a cry of pain