Meditation

Reflection, Odilon Redon Urged to stop—or still, enough to smell the pink-tipped dayas the fast, frantic fiddle plays,and purple breath-clouds cross the sky, to blossom in the in-between with shadowed light,and in this between, or in the after, you ask why? The hot-headed goddess sits abovelanguidly shining bright-beamed, life seeming toswim and sail through death-churned […]

Meditation

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