back to colors

i’m driven to paint.
i miss the solidarity that crashes over me when i smear colors on linen with the insistency of hips.
i miss the compassion i feel for my brush, colliding with an Image i’ve plastered on my eyelids,
a silhouette that dominates every blink and every space between my thoughts.

i long for that ability to create the emotions of the day - instead of our usual positions;
me, standing at my tallest five two
and the day, tackling me with all of its blustery beauty and tortuous elegance.

when i paint the blue shadows beneath your eyes, it is with all the steadiness of a cold, deep sky.
i can fill the infinite darkness with the titian red of my anger and the cool hungry violet of my heart.

the stars settle stubbornly
condensation in the hollows of my collarbones.
as i paint with fingers wet with the day
on skin stretched and lips open
with suspicious eyes upon me I lay out on the rained-on blacktop
Smelling it Painting that cut grass green eyes

but trying to find you in my colors
is like trying to blow the clouds into motion.