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