Portrait of a Man

For years I have fled from a nameless figure that first blossomed in water on an unsuspecting page, was built unknowingly on a canvas in oils, leaked from the tip of a chortling fountain pen, and sketched in wandering shades of flower-grey. A hand, taken from a poet whose lamp still burned into the night A pair of eyes, jewels hidden behind fractured glasses Hair, raven-black and ruffled in the direction of the wind A nose, flawless white, from a marble sculpture in the park Lips, pale rosy and stolen in the middle of song A back, slightly bent beneath the burden of time Two feet wrapped in weary brown shoes that walked the whole way. For years I have fled from a nameless figure For years I have learnt by heart the essence of his being For years I have whispered in secret an unknown identity For years I have yearned for his soundless voice. And then, he came to me. © 2010