this mystery without words follows me into my life.
The world outside my door that takes what I have to give when it knocks
Not begging but asking all the same
When I answer and go out into this world for the minute or the month even the year it asks for, I am not alone.
I send out my work
I wrap and ship my beauty
I label and name what has become material
And behind it all is the effemeral, always changing. This is how the ones unbeknownst, begin to be drawn in.
I go out
And the mystery goes with me. not alone in unknowningness.