there,
listening
after Le Café du Petit Poucet, by
Pierre Bonnard
“I
haven’t lived with that long enough to paint it.” – PB
lean (against
me arching) phantom man
listen (closely
for
eyes tell
Wednesday’s
stubble
scribble the
seam of coffee sips and
aromatic thought
across this, Our
page (if bounded
by vow) we are
seaside, (the
Bay or) in Turkey, ports harbor
(pleasing)
dreams docking, resident to
customs (poised
for) connection to
review (the
coast) like distaste for
all
things vanilla, collar my
colors to
You (in blue and magenta)
kowtowing
low in adoration
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