Opus Quo

On days like these, I am the paper
Taking in the sketches and scribbles and stains
I am folded away and saved for later
For moments when little else remains

On days like these, I am the soil
All upturned and tilled and watered and sowed
I’ll sit in silence, not for lack of toil
Meanwhile, deep grow roots like something owed

Undeterred, uncomplained
On the boil, ember-glow
Worth the stir, worth the wane
Veil voile, opus quo





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Photo by Colin Lloyd on Unsplash