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Portrait by Monet as I Slept

Breathing oxygen of oils and turpentine,
I waited,
Unfinished shade of monotone,
Left against a dusty wall
Gathering time
And moot dreams.

Until that night
He entered uninvited,
Scattering jars of exhausted brushes,
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
You 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

In dreams
He creates without thought.
A dress of purple iris,
A cape 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.
Most 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 played.
So to the window,
Looking for daybreak
He set my portrait flying against the sky blue.

Author:
jeanne rené

©10/04


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