The people of my land
Layer their stories
Their songs
In mosaics that move
in rhythm
To the winds.
Their hands touch the days
With knowledge;
A belonging.
Their faces touch me
in passage
Like soft flutterings of moths
Disturbed in velvet night;
The people pass through
Leave me dusted with the
glimmering powder
Of their wings. . .
Quiet whispers of
emotions.
The People
From Beneath My Dreams
Colored Pencil
Karen Emerald Reeder
Original 10" x 14"
Prints