There are still white shrouds,
blue skies cannibalizing
white puffs of cloud.
A soundtrack on
antique canvas.
On the other side of the world,
familiar brush strokes
pink bells hang in the salmon sky
Like tattered-heart blood,
pumping.
We are the grey night
holding their soft song.
Enigmatic echos,
a memory of tragedy
Perplexed, uneased.
Frustrated desires.
You are unknowable
in these quiet moments,
Ringing silent like a
choked songbird.
Can’t close my eyes
One, two, three,
ten years. A lifetime.
These moments,
we live different lives.
From Monet to Picasso––
Asparagus trees, vegetal,
on fire like our
gunpowder hearts.
And, in the presence of La Vie,
I divorced everything I knew.
Blue painted,
all of life was redrawn.
All gifts were given.
In The Way 
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