Posted by Atticus on July 27, 2005, at 9:17:33
Walking watercolor,
Faint brushstroke
Drawn along
A city street.
Shifting pastel
Awash in motion
Glides along
The cracked concrete.
Her pale skirt
A swatch of yellow
Pigment draped
O’er sandled feet.
And you gaze in
Wonder at this
Vision, phantom
Memory so sweet.
Think of days she
Strolled to greet you
At that café
Where you’d meet,
Amid the street show
Of the Village,
Where ghostly
Beats sip tea in seats.
But the painting
Went unfinished,
Now an image
Fading, in retreat.
Still sometimes
Your mind’s eye
Wields a brush,
And paints her petite
Form across an
Empty chair there,
A composition
At last complete.
poster:Atticus
thread:534164
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/write/20050621/msgs/534164.html