Paint

Is the ocean a kind of paint

Depicting a vast dimension of life?

Fish and delicate plants,

Shells housing soft creatures,

Whales breaching the paint.

Is the sun a kind of paint,

Making land appear high and low,

Beyond the glittering ocean?

Life on dry earth,

With mirrors of fresh water,

Colors to captivate eyes.

When sunlight cycles away,

The primordial Absence returns.

Is love the purest paint of all?

Before ocean and sun,

This paint cannot be seen.

It calls you into existence,

But the brush dipped in love

Is actually you,

Your awareness inclusive of swimming thoughts,

Like bees around a golden hive.

When paint is empty,

I call it love.