Naked,

stark crisp emptiness.

A Canvas staring at me

oblivious to its ambiguity.

A weight pressing down on my easel

 Atmosphere, like a landscape

stretching empty across my thoughts.

And now with a stroke on its surface,

parts are pressing against each other

confronting the void

compressing time

capturing movement.

Creating balance?

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In the moment between notes,

we long for the life that’s left.

Searching for words behind songs thick with our tears,

Echoing our laughter, quieting our soul.

We watch the enigmatic shadow of our youth

Inspiring us to touch what life could be__

should have been.

But what we find is only the graying music

Reduced to a whisper on a breeze

And becomes a breeze

we only sometimes hear

or even take the time to listen to.

sounds of our youth now cast in a way that leaves no comparison.

The dreams of our music, written and imagined, left undone.

The joy of our laughter beating with one less place to go.

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Line

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Each line a sacrifice to the ambiguous absence that is the surface,

Abandoning each mark to the perceptions of doer and viewer.

I’m left with the inability to retract any thoughts,

Any conscious gesture, as the equilibrium of the surface shifts.

So now I walk the surface, justifying the identity I’ve given this void,

Measuring the distance to its depth with a dissecting line.

A visual language at the advent of a thought

at the moment where it makes itself an advent of sense

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