Art. Poetry. AI.
Joy spills over— a cup too full for silence.
gipsi
She faces the wind as if it were only a thought.
Umbrella gone light, the wind writes its own ending in the empty hand.
Coin in midair— my two futures briefly share one heartbeat.
Red ring on rough seas A small promise in the waves Hope stays afloat there
Stone rises in mist A quiet shape from the earth Stillness has a name
Horned and holy still The flock gathers in his quiet Soft vows in wool light
Stinkhorn in the woods Sweet rot drifting through the leaves No one turns away
Old gods in the blood, A sudden scream in the chest, The wild still remains.
Ogre in the woods Pauses for a flower’s breath Softness in rough hands
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