White Space, Interrupted
Black vine charcoal trees stretch into the snow
of the page. This, a new page the artist borrowed
just for the day to carry what it can. Bear in mind,
none of this was here before; it is wrong to want more.
The penciled-in pond stands ready to absorb
the blank of the page and all its black vine trees.
Around it in a ring, slips of cattails lean against
one another, remind us beauty is poor sustenance.
In the corner, a white bowl, outlined
by snow, grips stones in a clasp of ice.
The only touch of pastels—what can happen
when we forget what we had planned—
these coral and green stones from flat
far-away shores, their accidental color
a language with little sense here, but assume
it has rules, that it too can be learned.
in Existere: Journal of Arts and Literature, Spring/Summer 2010