…. but back to paintings tomorrow, I promise.
I sit on the porch swing
and watch the dawn unfolding like a song
familiar oboe riffs of clouds against
arpeggios of ice blue waves on the lake,
deep tones of silhoutted mountain chords
and a minor key of sky.
Against these, bursts of staccatto percussion
of neighborhood dogs,
slide guitar of coyote,
chorus of doves and finches
and the hmm hmm hmm of hummingbirds
who have forgotten the words.
The harmonies develop
the mountains into purple,
red clouds melodise into gold,
my heart lifts to the peach crescendo bloom
on the horizon
as I long for his kiss.