Does the space we cannot touch have shape? You’ve made me think so. To think of air as an altar whether it’s for some kind of vulture or a circling thought makes me wonder if winter is the cathedral.
The jagged and the jolted lines and the hiss of trees sifting the sepia light are wonderful images.
I like the sensory tension between all in motion and all that’s “still.” There’s nature and man,
Landscape and cityscape, windows and sky -
The idea of hearing color or seeing sound is provocative.
The language here is as crisp and honed as the cold air.
But for the snow and fog and clouds and ice…
Does the space we cannot touch have shape? You’ve made me think so. To think of air as an altar whether it’s for some kind of vulture or a circling thought makes me wonder if winter is the cathedral.
The jagged and the jolted lines and the hiss of trees sifting the sepia light are wonderful images.
I like the sensory tension between all in motion and all that’s “still.” There’s nature and man,
Landscape and cityscape, windows and sky -
The idea of hearing color or seeing sound is provocative.
"Blinded again,
I’m rooted
to a world
without me." Speechless.
These poems paint pictures.
Please read this aloud to us. It is beautiful to think of your voice giving it sound.
What a great job! So creative and entertaining! It's both wild and ordinary at the same time.
Well done Joseph. Thank you.