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Subject: Still Life


Author:
04-09-99
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Date Posted: 20:43:40 04/18/99 Sun


He keeps a picture of her on the back of his eyes,
where still life has a way of moving when he least
expects it. So long now he's surprised the strands
of her hair, exclaimed more green to her eyes, startled
her legs to magnificent grace. When she moves,
he grabs for breath as though it may be the last he takes.

There is no languor in the world to catch her, hands
like an accompanist of harrowing dance. Sudden music
surrounds her every move, for the shocks that are most
to his liking become her substance, his hidden creation,
the raging joy of his composition. She won't soften like me;
she is busy living, loud and strident, still in his mind.

~JB

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