I stitch. I stitch Howe’s breath. So much
So much
The ghosting echoes ride the intersecting cells of my skin
Sewn sentences tickle tasteful images
of pages
full of already chewed knowledge
The melody of coherence rises and crosses the letters as they fall into unition
The letters – Holy words
Holding eachother up
creating
A texture of renewed senses
sentences
Divining lines
Crossing T’s
Moving wings
Woven
Moving words.