Type Dreams
Three blank canvasses lean against a hallway corner wall
Upstairs are boxes of paints, brushes and knives
Finished signed framed paintings hang throughout the house
Woodcarved dragons sit on shelves in homes across the world
Each Boston Whaler built after the moon landing boasts a drying chine line
conceived in the cellar
A winged unicorn tenses to leap aloft as the naked nymph upon her senses
freedom each caught in a twirl of cut planed and polished cedar grain
Some things sensed are meant to be while others wait in hallways
Or clatter constrained in cloud castle courtyards
Hands yearn to shape the forms that sing in wordless passion
As frustrated creation fills an empty page with words
Ghosted shapes of shadows wait as yet unseen
Is art an answer or a question
Is poetry an unsung song
Or third eye view so far along
Through a window
Of this corner house
In passing
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