What is happening here?
A moment, a lifetime, an aria, a play
Unhinged from the clock, a mo(u)rning unfolds
Then a change in my weather shifts the cosmos
An intoxication of paint, a fascination with black
A nervous Giacometti line unrolls
Joy found in grays on the perfect white ground,
The most Edwardian face
You've yet seen
Past romances collect like thunderclouds,
amass in the present (build up like warp and weft):
A half-century's recall -
Music, then word, then Word
Given to this pilgrim on the way
Never resting, on the move again
Yet (wife and mother) I feather the nest,
Think about dinner, scatter love
to sons, daughters halfway across the globe
I pick up the brush:
What is this instrument that translates my hand?
I spin time, visible, into immortal thread
I touch piano keys
(Iridescent cloth flows forth as the cello groans)
I give thanks for Anthony Trollope
And an antique epiphany shines in the eyes of a cat
Where is the poem in the room, today?