A winter bite that

mocks the spring, pincers its cocoon.

A life supported?

Cease one's internal decay,

Even ice melts. Love's fluidity.

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They say home is where the heart is

and my heart is where the art lives.

So where is my home?

Art lives within us all

and begins an internal/external exchange...

a process

like humanity to trees.

We stop, relax, breathe

as one.

So where is my home?

First Contact was my spiritual home

gave meat and marrow to

broken sp...

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