A painter without a brush

A painter without a brush is a memory of the body still hidden
in darkness;
its scent caught in the many folds of bedspread,
toss him a canvass perfectly white
and watch as sand rushes to meet with the shades of his palette:
pale cream
leaning toward carob, orange, pink, gold and black,
all of which make haste
to glide through defenses and meld with tempestuous waves—
it’s the shortest love poem ever written.
To match his mood is silence,
whispered words that wield sin and salvation, every time
he looks at the sky;
lips are lullaby as night moves distinctly and with purpose,
the moon has a face that haunts from the past, to the present
and
into the future forever—
observe how one dares to describe denuded of instrument.
I am dreams scaffolded,
the satin lining of my heart consists of texture of the hills long
after the snow has melted;
exhale deeply,
come lose yourself in subtleties—when the air
is filled with birdsong;
a painter without a brush is a memory of the body
still hidden in darkness.

 

 

 

 

Photo credits: Henrik. Aa. Uldalen “Work in Progress,” Pinterest

Laura hosts at dVerse tonight and invites us to join in with
a plethora of wonderful choices. I chose to write to the title
“A Painter without a Brush,” by Gerhard Richter. 💝

Posted for Poetics: The Poet as Painter @ dVerse Poets Pub