… into place.

By J. K. McDowell

September 2011

 

Dark calla lilies want to see the brown deepening

Of your eyes.  They wait for you in the studio.

Do we want the artist, the artist’s best or the artist’s best work?

 

I chased the red-haired beauty through the weaving

Columns.  She was wearing the midnight sky, both

Luminous and obscure in the same fleeting glance.

 

Dreams once stitched together are being undone

Along the steps and shuffles of paired polite guests.

More mysteries to explore after the mending.

 

Did we ever get permission to chart the heavens?

And the trespass? It is true I cut myself shaving

With the dull crescent of the waning moon.

 

Jim, your Soul needs the shade of ancient forests

And not the melting caress of the car park asphalt.

Some of the blackness and depths you fear are inside.

 

Darkness?  This is not the time for sleep.  The ceilings

Are coated black by the weariness of others.

OK, let’s finger-paint the stars back into place.

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