METICULOUS PORTRAITURE
(I am bereft)
Someone's meticulous portraiture caught my eye,
seen cast as a stone on a beach. Wicked ways and
gentle meanings, together. I approximated colors
with my mind's eye alone, and it all brought me
backwards, to home. Again, in slavish devotion.
-
These weren't the things you were made of - candles
in the wind, precious hearts and flowers, flames that
won't go out. By comparison to my heart and mind,
all that is magic. What are we, anyway, but motion.
-
Please don't sit still - keep moving. Bring your own
eyes' passions to the flight of the moth, uncomfortable
as ever, onto one of those flames - soon brought to
attention, soon singed. That too, just like a heart, and
just like a passion. Here, take this now. I am bereft.
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