September 11, 2014 life
How is what the painter paints
Different from these clouds,
Brushed across the sky?
How are the intricate folds of foliage
Different from the strokes of an artist’s pen,
Etched, line by line, into paper?
Are these not the works of One artist,
Manifest in everything?
What are these words,
But the universe telling itself
Of its own beauty?