Photo taken at a river near Patong Beach (Phuket, Thailand)

Saturday, February 4, 2023

To feel so empty, lite, I can look up and kiss our above gaping blue. Heavy, however, as to why I must capture such vague moods in passing. In faith or pattern, I am refilled.

My cup was half full.

And so, I see this dreaded pane, nulling the canvas of life. Let’s call it the air we breathe or the space we walk.

As if the cup were half empty, the pain of sorrow dries it. Now, sitting until poured with lavender seed oil, the flute through my canal writes.

From ear to hand, it types until I become a cup—filled.

And so, I move like water. But I’m warned to never flow with the river—gifts await upstream.

Empty the cup.

We are not dead fish.

-Budd

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