The broken ventriloquist parachuted
beyond the road, past even the living greens,
a wanderer in a straw hat
seeking life’s spark – that fire
that animates existence fully
and follows no formation.
Who paints the living? Who plants
the dead? In the end where do we go?
Asking questions with motionless lips,
he failed to hear the smoke
or any other meaning
and missing his traveling companion
returned to the road, lost after Genesis,
holding only clay.
Phillip Knight Scott | © 2019
Written for Sunday’s Whirligig #232 : clay, end, follow, painter, straw, wanderer