Painting no. 3/4
Delicate silk hangs oh so vulnerably
Harps clash with Maria Carey
Iridescent in the inconsistent;
Hand marks glide through:
S’s
Slushed on sand
Shoveled and thrown
With no love
And no hate.
With the rising of the water
And the heart beat of a child.
Over abundance of saltwater tears
Stream in the motte of the castle your father built.
