Every stray twig of grass
was a jest, a playful tribute to life
- Variation of shade was a possibility

Blue skies dissolved -
metamorphosed into clouds
clouds to birds
and birds to nest, nests to trees -
to hunters too, and so the river contracted
to make place for land
and out bubbled on the surface
roughs stones, wild shrubs
springing to life
and then formed the figure of the man
half from the clouds half from the land
he plucks his bow out of empty blue air
and an arrow appears to come from nowhere

All this I create
with just variations of shades