A page that almost didn't make it in and the collection it was always meant for.
There's a version of this poem that lived quietly in a manuscript, waiting to be cut. Not because it wasn't good enough but because a poetry manuscript has to fight for every page, and some pieces are simply meant for a different stage.
This one was always meant for you.
"Spores of Summer: Dancing Lilies" was written in the same breath as the Spores of Summer collection. The same heat, the same drum, the same joy that refuses to sit still. It's part of a larger poetry manuscript I've been working on for some time. When this piece didn't make the final cut, there was only one place it could go: home, to the art it was born beside.
Spores of summer drifting through the wind,
a gentle bustling in the air.
Swells of laughter, met with joy...
softly whispered words, so coy.
From the frenzied thumping of the beat rises the heat.
Melodies that can only be sung
to the sound of the healing drum.
Spores of love, whispering in the air
dancing lilies, summer's breeze.
Why this one, why now
Every painting in the Spores of Summer collection carries the same pulse this poem does joy that moves through the body before it reaches the mind. Rhythm before reason. A drum before a thought.
This poem didn't need a new home. It needed the right one. And it already had it.
Some pieces from the manuscript will find their way here first, paired with the art they were always in conversation with — this is one of them.
Every Painting Begins with a Question. Stay Curious.
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