Inkblot

 

 

INKBLOT

The sun's projective, an inkblot scaling mountains as a fleeting Rorschach

Crawling across the desert scenery with a pale blue background

The grains of sand as bountiful as stars hugging the ground hissing in the wind

tan world stretching to touch the water coloured world

Floating inkblots crawl forming massive 3d like sculptures on far ranges,

Across a desert upward to an eternity kissing blackened wind and water is light of day

The touching unseen, caressing nature unfelt, filling with a material magic until the cup over flows

A river bank streaming outward to a purpose vaguely guessed at

There is no deliberate wind with a purpose, only it's own existence, wind needs no purpose

The thing is itself alone in a freedom as purposeless in existence.

The hissing sand echoing the whispering wind

And pressed flat the clouds foam upward

Against the glass ceiling the roof of air sails

Alone in a thought a singular motion rushes

A MENDOZA, 2016