Beauty Beyond Words, and Yet I Want Them So Badly.

Vincent, come and tell me what to say.

 

I am afraid.

The beauty startled me

so I came back to capture it.

Bring your brush-sickle

and lop off that bale like an ear.

 

Forgive me for projecting on you.

 

It’s not words, but my words

that lie like straw gleanings

through the stubble.

 

I thought of you first

to show me how stroke texture

and vibrancy with syllables.

 

You were self inflicted,

but your brush with faith

incited you to a beauty beyond

and you welcomed me

to whisper by your left lobe

“I see it too.”

 

Oil my word economy

and layer it in gobs

as age and color magnify.

 

Image taken from my iPhone.

 

This is a print of Vincent’s

 

 

Tight Words Loosen

Two hands open,

and spider leg fingers

touched down and

touched me.

She worked on me.

She pushed on knots

with oiled syllables.

Over and over

phrases massaged

my backbone.

Knowledge loosened

into understanding.

I was etherized on a table

long enough to rise

without what ails me.

Now my hands are again open

to work something out for you.

 

For Luci Shaw.