For bristles you could use dune grass, dried
Pine needles, eucalyptus leaves.
For bristles you could use anything,
Your fingers themselves petals, expressive
Grace & falling light....
It caught dusk & a lurid gleaming pool hall.
Then there’s the stars erupting across canvasses,
A bridge, a cypress, divine mad illumination
Recorded in a portrait by your candle-brimming
Burns, is a toll taking creativity to the gaze
Of some prostitute, sea captain, a mere bed post
& chair, the fire scratched & instilled even amid
Windows, an asylum’s: barred.
How did conversion sneak in, a church seen
At sun down, soothing, lush, but
Was it too much—
This grasp, these visions, a harbinger,
Compounded, grounded out, all of it,
In that last frenzied soul cry of a sky & field
Filled with crows.