Its that door that won't Open
the foot hanging limblessly
the morass of desire
the token from the heart bereft
the subjugation of winters sleep
Here I stand remembering
white fleck of hair floating in the breezestock after stock is stalking me
I am trembling not with fear
A vagabond spitting as he passes me on the street
my soul shudders with a knowing
I know I know too much and yet too little
This dissatisfies me to no end
The right hand makes a gesture
an invitation of a color
the left is holding hands
the kindness
the vaporous stranger sits at my side deliverance
Hey Monica - it's great to see you painting again and intriguing to see how the work progresses ... have you completed it yet?
ReplyDeleteHey Graham..its almost done..and so is another.I will post them soon.
ReplyDeleteHow is the heat in Namibia?