Wasn't Just Breathing in the Air

In reading the novel Lizzie Bright and the Buckminster Boy by Gary D. Schmidt, I receive these words as a poem, though in the book itself they march across the page like any other sentences:

She took a deep breath, 
and she wasn't just breathing in the air. 
She breathed in the waves, 
the sea grass, 
the pines, 
the pale lichens on the granite, 
the sweet shimmering of the pebbles 
dragged back and forth in the surf, 
the fish hawk diving to the waves …

That poetry? That's the poetry of painting.

Scratching the Blue Dome
3x3", acrylic, ink, and oil pastel on canvas paper, mounted on collage paper
abstract
2016
[gift]

A poem in four verses: