Loved

watercolorsundial

Your words paint time still –

 sun forgets to race,

 earth pauses mid-stride,

moon holds her longest note,

vibrato kissing stars.

Heart hibernates,

pulse slows;

in this moment,

I am Mona Lisa,

caught in secret smile.

I am  waterlily,

wetting Monet’s daubed brush.

I am

light

and shadow

and tone

and hue,

whispers under covers

and smuggled glances;

I

am

found out,

captured by lens,

immortalized by sonnet.

I

am

Loved.

A Monet Moment

From here, the canvas seems so skewed –

the parts and colors have no rhyme or reason, no purpose.

Bud, blossom, pistil and stamen,

pollen and spot and stem,

all fight for the viewer’s eye.

Where is the unity of form?

Where the beauty of grace and composition?

But take a step back,

and the painting morphs.

Like Monet’s waterlilies,

when taken in the round, they snap into perfection,

glorious in context,

sprouting meaning like flower-petal wings…