Impressions

"And yet I see a light in the distance so clearly;

if that light disappears now and then,

it is generally my own fault."

~Vincent Van Gogh

I read the words of Van Gogh

and the words read me.

From my vantage point,

fragile Cirrus clouds

like bone china, streak

the powdered blue firmament;

their strands suspending the

softest billows like picture

frames hung on a wall.

Spring is springing,

all around

and where I have been

waiting for words to fall,

there are none.

The leaves on my trees

are falling;

this the absurdity I

essay to make sense of;

putting thoughts to words

in hopes I might part

the very clouds

which have obscured

me from them;

words which sporadically

leak in prisms their Ebenezer-like

visitors

I am in want of a poem

where my words will form

some Migratory V

and soar the skies in search to see

where none return as though in vain

tracing rainbows through the rain.

These words I look for,

but they will not take flight.

...

Early this morning

a salt and pepper squirrel

scampers back and forth

along the arms and under

the sprawling umbrella of my

White Oak tree.

He's in a twitching frenzy

for Sunflower seeds

scattered along the fence;

as if somehow I thought him

unable to forage for himself.

My very colossal and

olde love of a dog

makes a valiant effort

for the warm blooded prize,

but with eyes

now resembling more

the clouds he used to chase,

falls short this night.

Reaching down to scratch

behind elongated tufted ears

I validate his efforts

and he presses into my thighs,

returning the gesture

with a humble wag of his tail.

An ineffable beryl yellow butterfly

flits about his head

but he pays no notice.

...

The hours have whiled

this day from morning

to dusk like a high speed camera.

From the pulse that is my home,

Cornish Hens have satisfied,

allowing bits and scraps

enough extra for two dogs

who lap up clean their bowls.

I've stepped out onto

our back deck and

into the breeze of the evening

with my noble foot warmer

and truer half of

'Till death do us part.'

He settles into the familiar

fluff of cotton ticking blankets

I've piled for him

where he's curled in the corner

by the birch stacks

licking away the aches and rattles

from his bones.

I'm hoping for a little while longer

with my furry companion,

not taking for granted the days;

believing soon

he will be chasing rainbows

instead of clouds.

I know full well when he

decides to leave us

he will have taken with him

a very large season of

what was our life together;

and for a moment

my breath.

...

An awesome spectacle

is overhead tonight.

The Westward sky

is boasting a painterly

crescendo of colors

in palette knife strokes

of Turquoise.

The ethereal Beryl yellow

of earlier, is V'd into

an impasto thick

Blood-red orange;

bearing the footprints

of a master

impressionist's

marks

...

I am warmed this moment,

under the canopy of its colors;

which has generously

wrapped within its splendor

a poetic offering to me all its own;

one for which I had

been eluded earlier.

A heavy curtain of clouds

has parted, making way

the stage for a setting sun

to take his final bow.

I stop on cue and follow the star

paying homage and knowing,

at least for the moment;

it is not

a want for words

I am after,

but silence from them;

standing beneath the one

before whom

all my questions

seem to fall

away.

photo credit: becky e

location: austin, texas

date: april 2015