The row of watercolor cells reminds me
of the portholes in the side of an iron ship.
A couple must be making love in the first one,
and someone's playing a cello in the second.
Even from this far away, I can see the fight
happening in the orange window. The black
cell is almost empty. There's an oval of white
in its middle where the soul is escaping.
Maybe it was the first room to fill
with water on this sinking ship, the brush
having finally worn the hull through.
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1 comment:
Eric,
I thought you might like to have a comment from someone not trying to sell you something.
Biased though I am, I enjoyed very much the reflection on a watercolor box. It was mesmerizing like gazing at clouds as they morph into wonderful things.
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