Mountain Lakes of Kintsugi

there's something about the way He paints his world prussian and phthalo blue

I wouldn't know how his hands imitate the image in his mind He uses colors and textures I use words and rhymes

He told me that I shouldn't think about the imperfections when I create what's mine and it made me realize why I love to write in any haze distracted I can find the abstraction of worlds combined traveling in and out of ones created past and further composing of a new imagination; like blending blunt lines of indigo and in that ocean of Venus' Aphrodite which He paints with blues and crimsons of time present and time past

I’ll then understand why his mountains reminded me of Kintsugi they weren't perfect, they were just happy living for the day as it was strongly mended together with soft golden tones as if moved and carved gently by the hands of God, as if their flaws were intended to be so beautiful