eyes dance over foxes,
one big orange
and two little oranges…
Art
I have a policy,
which is to look at a painting
up close and far away…
I don’t know their name,
I don’t know what she called them,
I can hear their silent, open-mouthed
pain as I stare into their eyes, fall…
the tree sways in the wind,
leaves drift left and right,
downward and downward,
baby rocking in mother’s arms…
When it was all over, I looked at the dot with a tail curling on the inside of my wrist.
“Why did you want a comma?” the artist asked, cleaning their tools….
the eyebrows and the eyelashes
are out of order,
the moon is pock-marked,
I’m standing on a tilting plane…
it’s so loud, I can’t hear everything
at once, the yellow is thrumming, insisting…
I, too, paint sunflowers.
Color dances in the light, …
I once figured out, a four step process, for making art…
Magritte speaks to me,
even when I can’t make out the words…
Daily Poets 