It is Mother’s Day as this is being written. Jane Stoneman, my mother, was camera-shy when I asked to take a picture. But she had no objection to my sketching butterflies. The Butterfly is my mother’s totem creature. So this is an odd portrait of my mother, not from life, not psychological, but metaphysical.


And here is another image. This one combines image and text, some hidden.

001-10Here are the words, hidden or not:

Balanced on a thermal puff
Undulant in gardens floral
Tethered to migration’s taxi
Thinned unto endangering
Extralocal through & through
Roving through this continent


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