The Painter Plans a Painting of His Beloved
It must be set up as for a summer sea,
as it was for us in 1973,
has to have a background in blue,
a first sweep
for brighter upper air then dimmed and skewed
to dotted birds below, something lighter
than ochre for a coming harvest later,
a storm of gold below green winds
riding on nothing but milling air.
These were our days of braille,
touching music on the skin,
fingertips alive on arms and lips
warm breath, warm kiss
and bayonets ready, flags
of ragweed ramming from the dunes
and a shore blurring with seagirls floating past.