I stand along the grey walls
of a sacred sanctuary
where her portrait hangs
immersing
eluding
shifting
in consummate chiaroscuro
like velvet, darkness drapes
across her almond cheeks
and I wonder
what the painter had in mind
when his last brush strokes
wet-on-wet
were glazing sfumato
blending
feathering
scumbling
the mysterious curves
of her lips
crestfallen or elated?
I wonder
To paint: soft, haze, tone:
mysterious mood
There is no rainbow here
the mind erases them all in fast succession
into some dull opaque gray white progression
until not a single image or dream re-appears.
Once there was a palette of colors flowing
a pastel sketch campitura upon the empty easel
unprotected each color fades in painfull recall sequel
poorly painted until someone else's picture is showing.
Bleeding down along the edge
every color fades each into the next
and with the camouflage of displays flexed
slip away the rainbow bloom wedged.
A couche glaze reflects the light
giving into saturated blends fugitive licensed blacks
wrapped in the haze clouded visions of dark grays stacked
with the memories that grisaille the night.
Now with each color faded, all of what was you and me
remains the untold story of impasto shaded hues
varnishing frame and canvas with the memory true
a sfumato memory that breathes air with tears to salt the sea.
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