My Artist's Hands

We are all the creation of our own artist…who or whatever that may be to the individual…we all exist in this one that exists within each…how can you not think on that and be humbled

Blue-eyed portholes in the gray hull sky

Winking wise in the erratic current’s breathing

Spying pattern shapes transfix our opposing motion 

Our hurries halt as each force’s regarding begins

A shared question on both our tongues

Your reality exists in my artist’s hands?

E.A. O'Connell