She took a deep breath,
and she wasn't just breathing in the air.
She breathed in the waves,
the sea grass,
the pale lichens on the granite,
the sweet shimmering of the pebbles
dragged back and forth in the surf,
the fish hawk diving to the waves …
That poetry? That's the poetry of painting.
|Scratching the Blue Dome|
3x3", acrylic, ink, and oil pastel on canvas paper, mounted on collage paper
A poem in four verses: