POEM: THE SCENE

The Scene 

her brush strokes against a white canvas-
tips melting into tributaries and dams
she dabbles into gardens and meadows
her pen hooks into fresh fruit-
breaking open infested plums

birds in v-formation flap their wings over
veiled mountains-
as she labors over a lemon sunset
a long shadow creeps out
underneath her easel and gently taps her
on the back

she glances up, sees nothing but an apparition
of a humid aridity in a forgotten globe
the wind skips over the lake,
throwing her hair into porcupine quills.

she reaches for them,
quiets down their raucous cries
with a phoenix pin.

as the darkness melts and clings to her
a figure moves just beyond her eyes-
she reaches out and her fingers
caress the mist-

the sweet scent of lilacs dance
on her painting;
soon she will see
a forgotten promise come
into fruition.

                                                                                                                               Elik Rain