THE JOURNEY I TRAVEL

There is something in things that moves, 
It is not the beauty of the colors, 
nor the shining of the paint, 
nor the movement of the whole
It is in there, 
but also beyond and above and below 
It's the brushstrokes and the sounds you can hear 
if you lay your ear to listen close to the canvas.
It is the trembling of the cloth, 
when your hand touches it
And the trembling of the wires around it that grows & swells.
It is coloring the pains in my corps