The water breaks;
A bird's wing,
Shafts and quills intact
along the shards of ice.
Too heavy to lift, I tip
the basin up
and water drains from underneath
the broken thing.
I want to keep it intact,
Safe from warm,
Hold it in Winter aspic,
One small, fragile memory
of peace.
Hidden,
Eyes protected,
Razor sharp brim
foreclosing our reach.
I
Only an air kiss
for your First Lady.
The wind tries to take it.
Another moment in which
regret might rise up too,
Or maybe bubbles of laughter,
throwing caution to that wind,
That hat, becoming
a frisbee
And you shaking your long hair free.
*
God bless those who've been granted power.
May they use it for the greatest good.
II
Today, a new day,
Sans hat,
but your suit's making a suggestion:
Take Frank's fedora and
Make your own way,
Tip your world
into a caramel confection,
Cock a snook in their direction
and
Take us to the pictures
in Your lexicon of clothes.
Let us live twice,
Do it all again,
But different.
Put on some style
Not your way
My way.
Looking in the mirror,
Your shoes say
Where's that hat ?
*
About Half way up
the mountain they sat down to rest because, as he said, this is far enough and the sun's going down.
She can't remember the ground now, but only the sky as they looked out across the vast landscape, rolling clouds chasing each other alive with colours an ever-changing light show smearing a geranium lake into some fading red ochre then searing chrome yellow following some softening ochre and all the time the depth of blue lakes shining from the wells of a dark blue Prussian horizon.
Here on the magenta hillside she sighs and smiles " I can get to this through painting especially with pastels it's all there, always there, you don't need drugs you just need to keep looking " her heart sang out to him
but even before she looked for his eyes she knew he couldn't hear her and that it wasn't the same for him. Perhaps drawing and painting were superficial in his eyes. Later she would remember these shades of indigo and violet defining his cheek too and think about the dark shadow that defined him; an-ever deepening light which placed him in a separate place from this moment, from her.
Chiaroscuro defining the contrast she felt between all things.
The arrogance of her youthful exuberance and yearning for mutual spiritual understanding, to be connected with another soul formed a barrier between her self and the beloved dream.
And some things you don't discuss, like the fade into the muted dullness of a nineteenth century landscape painting where everything has slowed to the drudgery of the diurnal rhythm of life's inevitable graft and the sunlit uplands of our days lie muted by the deep grey cloud that hangs for months above our heads.
They returned to the area but not the mountain, exploring and discovering a myriad of inspiring things together. A vault of shared experience and enjoyment gradually filled.
She began to realise that it was history that concerned her most. How places and people evolve, that and the nature of time and she could see that these things were intrinsically linked to perception and experience and separateness began to trouble her less and difference and distance to fascinate her more.
*
Beautiful on the lips
The way a shutter might stick
Pause
Take the picture
Long exposures
Can be very interesting
Hidden,
Your eyes protected,
Its razor sharp brim
foreclosing our reach.
Only an air kiss
for your First Lady.
The wind tries to take it.
Another moment in which
regret might rise up too,
Or maybe bubbles of laughter,
Throwing caution to that wind,
That hat, becoming
a frisbee
And you shaking your long hair free.
God bless those who've been granted power.
May they use it for the greatest good.
The water breaks; A bird's wing, Shafts and quills intact along the shards of ice. Too heavy to lift, I tip the basin up and water drain...
