oils moving on a white canvas

piling up drama on the edge of

a knife

a voice undresses the canvas     who is she?

who are all these people?     the dimensions

of light unknown      how did he support

himself?    (debt is a figment

of the faint-hearted)    there is a low


to his art     that we are unable to dig

through          pre-dating the alphabet

a tenacious passion for life

before europe     and the artist


the pigments of his skin      the person

slips through the canvas’s memory      theory

of time times beauty           and the depths

of the pigment      first black then

white controls the echo    and he lived

almost happily

ever after


Mary Kasimor