Feathers

Hands in the Garden aka Grumpy Gorman Picture used with permission.

and cracks leak out
low beams -higher
running scared
you ask me, wondering. If?

If? If i flew
with feathers worn,
should i fly over the valleys
witness the undergrowth, what then?

There are no answers
social moors to follow
beautiful black and white
the curves of anatomy revealing.

Our words
like cutting out paper dolls
trimming a leg -because
pants fit too tight. If.

This picture spoke. I talked back. Feathers are what I see. At the moment. Landscapes always change. The painting is called “in the brush”.

Thank you Mr. Gorman for allowing the picture to post on my blog.

Art Poetry

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