Atlases that sit in your car pocket and are seldom opened, seen, examined. Road markings. Interstates. Route numbers. Highways. Little black dots with fine-print names and within those black dots names that go unprinted. Names with lives. Names with jobs and families and brittle hearts and full hearts and favorite radio stations preprogrammed in their cars. And in their side pockets–
Blue blobs, green blobs, streaks of blue that bleed across the page and into each other. Creation simplified. Creation obscured. Creation beckoning:
Come, see the eyes of our flowers, the bulbs of the dewdrops clinging to our heavy leafs, the morning vigil of the birds, the sanctity of our silence, the roaring of our waters. Come, and look up from your
Large words, small words, too many words. Makes you not want to look at it. Makes you confused. Makes you lost. Complication. Intimidation. Motivation?
No. Not now. Too many things. Large things. Little things. Job, family, brittle heart, full heart, favorite radio stations preprogrammed in your car.
All creation, all names–printed and unprinted–little blue veins and black veins and orange veins and green veins purposefully woven for your exploration
Back in your pocket. Seldom open, seen, examined.