Beyond back door. Slivered slats
The porch. Releases stockinged feet
To run wooded paths. Circle the pond
Dream branches brush patches of light
An easel stands against pewtered dawn
Still life in-waiting. Yours.
The Artist shifts. His eyes clear.
Watches you race by. As a child
Dark ends of tunnels somehow erased
Finishing touches dabbed here, there
Smudges of vineyards, purpled lakes
Open windows, a love letter unfolded
From Him. To you. The Artist smiles
You read and re-read this dream
Rain rushes. Unframed canvas
A palette of grace. Beautiful.
© 2011 S. Michaels
Knowing Every Acre