Ah, and good Monday to all! Today-- the other "love" poem Robbins liked and published:
Absolutes
Painting an acrylic sky
and adding a bit of black--
a must the teacher stressed--
shattered my bent to extremes
but not then.
Only the hottest coffee,
the quickest route;
right was right; wrong, wrong,
and I knew which was which.
Years after that sky had hardened,
I walked alone on the beach
at sunset in Savannah
and watched the edges
of creams, pinnks, and blues--
and, yes, I guess, black--
fading and seeping
into each other.
Even the sand piper
reflected this natural shading
from his stark white breast
to his wings tainted gray
and dipped in soot.
Without you
things are not certain
that always were
except skies; skies
should always be done
in water colors.
No comments:
Post a Comment