Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Poem: Invisible Art

Invisible Art

It is warm outside,
but dark clouds pass by
spitting rain in bursts,
before wind casts them to the horizon
and the sun returns.

You are dry and shadowed,
sitting under a vast canvas tent,
surrounded by strangers
who have all come to bid
on tiny parts of yet another
stranger's life, buying

the trinkets and framed history,
the worn objects and odd treasures
that drew them, like road kill
draws black buzzards, while
you look up

at pine shadows, texture and light,
a painting fleeting as the wind,
more memorable than death.


Rona and I took in an auction last Sunday. I came back not with a thing, but with this picture, of the shadow of a pine tree on the tent we all sat in. You can click on it for a larger version.


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