leaving only imaged poems and after a while they came back! the words came back like stray cats remembering a saucer of milk and now they stay.
to have words back how does it feel? better. though a bit tangled even so they seem appropriate and fitted.
writing has become whatever it becomes and letters fall wherever they fall. color and shape dance as all bow and circle and look away like the newly acquainted do.
i say to color and shape and word
i am not ready
i do not know how to look at this.
that which stays like adopted cats.