white

perhaps today

i shall pick up the brush

and paint a portrait of myself

in paradise

 

wash the canvas

with the colors of a meadow

and paint myself

as beauty

 

deep within its peace

i’d step  

my fallen veil

billowing behind

as i enter

 

lightly would i tread

my hand upon the fabric of my skirt

lifting

so that nothing would be torn

 

my feet, naked, nimble,

noticing

the dampness of the soil

from which beauty blossoms                                                        

 

opening

its fragrance unto me

as my fingers glide  

across its surface

 

then, suddenly i’d wing

sustained by graceful currents

immersed

within this flowing tapestry

 

until i’d be discernable

no longer

rather one note in this song

that no one else can hear

 

although they see the dance

as it flows

across the watercolor stillness

that i am

 

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M.C. Reardon

photographer~painter~poet

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