Le secret de la vie

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,

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.

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