The Artist

Fold them- Your hands

While liquid mountains whose hearts loom over

the dark languid desert

escape through your soul

 

Emerald God light streaking

Through the clouds

Pouring itself onto the gritty canvas

Use mine-

 

I will stand limp

with eyes like

tender winter bulbs buried deep

Under the frozen earth

 

Fingers as paintbrushes

Take me over

I become the medium filled with the spirit and

Trance of your mathematics

Edges/corners

 

I will glimpse the source of another ( revel/rebel/brokenbone/broken rules)

one fleeting breath

of the rising energy/the spasm of ideas

the inspiration of the Artist as he sets his brow

 

                                                 Your shadow stands tall behind me

 

The spaces between our bodies contract

I am surrender. Every movement a surprise

My fingertips squeezed like grapes pinched

Pushed and pulled

 

And color..... like spun honey/

like life's lubricant

that which can only become visible

long after its death

beholden

Mixed and made real- a little lighter, a little darker

a little pleasure/pain.

 

The science of inspiration

chemical/cerebral

Glassy spiderwebs of light from one souls

Victory cry

Here! I am here.