A Klee in Blue
Abe sketches trees in charcoal
as he rides the train to London,
makes sure they're true-to-season
without the luxury of color.
He pauses now and then,
the same as when
the rain rests intermittently
beneath the underpasses.
Abe moves his pencil once again,
rakes smudges into fruits,
then curves his thoughts
to what stays in the main:
a day in March two springs before
when all was new
and leaded lines of Oxford's trees
had not turned lavender
to shades of mourning blue.
©1999 - first Published in 2RiverView
1 comment:
Anne, I just read you poem through about three times. It was more lovely each time! Both lyrical and aesthetic… Loved it. The only thing that still puzzled me is the reference to Klee. Paul Klee, yes?
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