my head still comprehends

sometimes

the broad strokes

so few paint with anymore

the lost art of nothingness

in between the lines of paper

the lack of clutter

surrounded by panoramic sweeps

of oars though water

slicing it cleanly

separating the pockets of

blissful inactivity and

silence

the lack of sound

a prerequisite

to comprehending

those quickly fading

broad strokes

that so few paint with anymore