a sun blue morning after snow
a sun blue morning after snow
hushed in this painting the oils
are as aged as time itself as
aged as every gaze that alights
bird-like upon life’s fence held
forever is stilled here now before
a held breath mists the morning
to move forward and it’s lost
touch it fingerly
finger it touchingly
ribble the smooth
smell the oils
long-dried
fresh as a new fall of snow
No comments:
Post a Comment