The stillness of water mimics the blue birds crackle.
She wrestled spring on her hips.
Aggressively painting sun-stained orange sometimes fiery-red.
Salivating with power on her tongue.
Blinking ,colliding two thoughts toward the sea of purpose.
Rolling down windows ,breaking into the attic to re-invent a voice of her own.
Poet Krissy Mosley.