sprawled figures basking in the impressionist sun
shooting through a break in the clouds
he said
you are forest thick brush strokes of my outdoors
a window opening on landscapes devoid of human presence
my lack of sharpness, my fine edges
he said
you are my fleeting glimpse of forgotten languages
an ephemeral moment
lived without a straight jacket
he spoke of water lilies and japanese bridges
imprisoned in an imperfect symmetry
and a dream he had of a cuckoo
pardoned by time
your heart is river shaped
he said
your winds intensely colored and homeless
howl through my trees
i was his motherβs womb
he said
throwing his elongated shadow
on my walls as
I flung off my everything to expose
my naked body to the firing squad
Header photograph Β© Darlene Anita Scott.
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