A little bench for each artist

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Yesterday I discovered a new artist
one that died years ago
but whose songs, writings, and interviews
exist
and appeal to my sensibility
I wonder how many more
how much more
what else
exists
subconscious perhaps
all of it
notice in a moment
there is a life’s worth
open for business, stored on your shelf and under the grass, beneath the treehouse,
tangled in the roots keeping whispering hope parallel
bright and primary but out of reach
tomorrow I will write about another artist
one that runs through the tumbled stones of heavy head
that flows out splays of words
into this world on screens and stage of thoughts transom to bed
happy Friday, to enjoy the gap of known
to sit on a bench
each artist swinging legs, blinking
noticing the sip of tea
discovered works roar afloat the human sea.