Portrait by Monet as I Slept
Breathing oxygen of oils
Unfinished shade of monotone,
Left against a dusty wall
And moot dreams.
Until that night
He entered uninvited,
Scattering jars of exhausted
And crusted palettes in a fury of salvation.
Ripping moth worn drapery,
Pushing out stale air through cracked glass.
Lifting me to an empty easel
He postured gaily,
Ah, gray child
have stayed to be my masterpiece,
And threw colors at my canvas.
I will paint you as light, my dear.
Place rose red blush to your cheek,
Silhouette drawn with blossom lined path
In the arms of
old yews and muted greenery.
I will sketch you a Japanese bridge
to linger the afternoon ~ a crossing over lazy water lilies
He creates without thought.
A dress of purple iris,
of swaying poppies,
And tresses of yellow poplar leaves
dancing in the easy breeze . . . his eye renders me.
I will give you dainty parasol clouds
Drifting above meandering rivers
And cliffs that greet the crash of sea waters.
crucial, child, I will paint you
As soft grass upon which lovers lie.
With grasses tendered,
He threw brushes over his shoulder
And contemplated the image.
Across the lips a smile of satisfaction
So to the window,
Looking for daybreak
He set my portrait flying against the sky blue.