I saw you sitting there,
Quill in hand, poised:
Perfection stood behind you,
Breathless with the anticipation
Of the final stroke of your hand.
The parchment glides effortlessly
Towards the hazy, liquid floor,
To become a silhouette. The glass eye
Clamped your image to my socket:
A telescope reaching out for the horizon.
I held you in my mind, my inspiration, my obsession:
A child betrayed by
Agelessness, as it escaped from your eyes.
The clear droplets remained your hostages,
The gas threatening to solidify them.
Apparitions invoked evaporate
While generation after generation still clamour
To hold mercilessly onto your quill:
All wanting to love you,
To capture you,
To be you.
In my dreams there lies your gravestone:
Marked as a platitude of this addiction,
Never to be reached;
Something instead to strive for.
Years stretch into centuries, ages, milleniums:
All composed of those intangible, ephemeral moments
We struggle to comprehend.
Paper skin, inked smiles,
A photograph of you
Bright, brilliant, and beautiful: a life cut too short.
Saturday, July 10, 1999
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