PICTURE PORTRAIT
just catching sight of you
my breath hitching
felt you had
offered me a, portrait grabbed
from the Louvre
then as i fell in love
stolen it back from me
and now
what I saw today
does not remind me
of anything in that picture
later
I was priveleged to contemplate
how Picasso, Dali,
Modigliani
had rendered you
finding a teasing asymmetry
in their disparate interpretations
leaving
me wondering how
I might paint you if I had
measurable talent
in that medlum
what life
I might endow, what
life distill
and with that life
how close to the absurd
magic of
you stepping out
of that frame, in our
own special re-enactment of
that ancient
mythology of the artist
turning stone
to flesh
turning
two
dimensional representation
into the very walking, talking,
beathing relection
of desire
from light and play
of shape and form
not from words,
obviously.
poems 2 die for 