A Poem by Lillo Way
Tuesday sunset went baroque, all gold-edged
and filigreed in a frame of holy squiggles.
Yesterday it was high renaissance muscle,
flesh-colored and fingering the clouds.
There’s been a reformation this evening, giving us
hard-edged still life, not a breath of movement.
Until you came leaping up the stairs, parting
the air, dispersing clouds. You grabbed me
by the waist and laughed me onto my palette.
You painted me creamy in broad brushstrokes.
Our borders blurred in your rich impasto.
Adhered and embedded, we heard the rain begin.