To an oil painting . . .
Colors of Water
©1999 Barry Blackhawk
If I could see your dream as often
Like some gray wispy old water portrait.
Tinged maroon and old green while you
Your eyes skimming some mirage water
Your girl fingers holding each other
like sweet pinches.
Ankles crossed with barefeet on mother
You practiced and saw across a far time
Bending, turning a sweet love will,
seeing our best,
Planning to be our creations child,
Tendering for today and making it grow,
Simple complexity appealing my need
Teaching love of our own circle of creatures,
A slip of tiny feather makes a world
A baby breath is as a concert, each
bit a riot of sound,
Each song a life wish looking for each's
A caress of any part, a meshing, to
fit each emptiness,
Your heart, your sweet heart. a full
lip meaning given.
Why did you grow up? It was meant for
us to see.
Some unknown artist without sound wrote
me a beautiful song that I yet long