Searching for inspiration, I was lost for words. There, I held my pen poised to strike the word-stone, to break forth a fountain. I struck. A dot. Opening up, blooming, engulfing me, enveloping me, melding, breaking forth, word-army-ants racing across canvass, finding direction, finding pattern, finding verse. Slashing, piercing, hacking, carving, crafting. Dread. Forcing fear, forcing a tear, burying hurt, forging smiles, crafting colours, making where there is none. Plumbing depths, scaling heights. Driving the sun to slumber and bidding the moon return. Night unto dewy mornings. Dark unto light. Rain unto dearth. Spawning. Seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, eons. Running. Exhausting, diminishing, folding into. Dot. Full-stop.