Sunday, April 29, 2018

Galaxy nights and manuscript days


The lilac, the cherry, the iris,
to name just a few — so spectacular each spring,
and then quiet in their summer anonymity,
content with their work, with their ants and beetles
and birds — and you, with your limbs and your ferns,
your notes and your books, your clay
and your hooks, your garden path figures
that contemplate dusk — so little,
so much, that you’re almost
not here, your pigments
and brushes and ink,

your galaxy nights and manuscript days,
the divine hush of your walk,
with no need of meaning
or value or rush,

now looking up, to name just a few,
to choose lines of black or be chosen by blue,

little boy now, little girl too,
your mother a mirror —

all just to say the beginning is here —

or is it here?




5 comments:

*** said...

...da bomb, baby - pow! 💣

Anthony Duce said...

Totally enjoyed.
Opening up so many subjects for the artist in all of us. Now I don’t want to work. Want to grab my pens and paints and go play.

William Michaelian said...

Donna and Anthony:

While I was writing this, I had you both in mind.

Thank you.

*** said...

That explains it. I found myself in every line.

"...to choose lines of black or be chosen by blue, ..."

Earlier this morning, before reading this, the line "Not back from blue," played to me. Then my head got hold of it and wanted to say (somehow), "...black from blue." Here I see you'd already written the lyric and then an entire song.

William Michaelian said...

Well, if I did, it’s clear I had help.