universally acknowledged--
that here in the studio--
(or just outside
where drips can be ignored,
serve as handy
oxidizing racks,
at the whim
of whatever materials
place themselves
in my hands),
now and again,
find themselves
in want
of the color blue.
is the thing
that happens.
(somewhere in the midst
of a lengthy parenthetical aside),
I used the word whim,
as though flax, milkweed,
willow, walnut and wool
are full of caprice,
individually and collectively
leading me this way and that--
tugging at my hand
and heart strings,
as I,
the marionette,
dance to their tune.
The materials don't feel
even remotely passive,
and I have no idea
where this is all heading--
or why, suddenly
(in the midst of other plans),
everything needed to be blue.
of thinking myself in charge
of the materials I select
and the stories I tell--
to acknowledge--
or even more,
to relish--
the reciprocal nature
of these things that I do--
that we all do--

knowledge and skills
I have gathered
(ever noticing
to my delight and chagrin,
how very little I actually know),
in service to
this cooperative venture.
So, blue it was.
And now?
says the Praying Mantis,
"you can go away
and make some more cordage
with those busy busy hands of yours
while I return
to admiring the view."