Realms of cotton. One visual among the mass.
Swirling clear, cloudy, crystal.
Seeing the world in one. No edges. No guesses. Absolute in entity.
No Ying Yang. No wondering. Pure. If only.
Ice shining in the sun. A cold frost cutting into the grasses.
No shadows. No grays.
Primary. Easy. A way out of wondering.
The rays hit and the colors begin to change, transforming in a moment before one’s eyes.
grays begin to form. Dissolve. Transpire.
Questions Surfacing. More complications. A Stream of colors.
A different visage of the world.
The mirror slanted. Turned upon oneself. A reflection at best. images arrive. Clear, slanted across the room.
A cutting edge.
Complicated. Cold. Gleaning. Changing.