Written by Grace Maselli
To forget his eyes is
to unsee
cardinals in sudden
drops
the falling knives from fixed
points to a failing
branch or
from the sky
flying left
to right across chartreuse,
a color made by Grenoble monks
of France
The chiaroscuro of sadness
and change:
It will never be
the same
broken set of rules,
though memory will
apportion itself for dramatic effect
A masterwork
of darkness left,
and a fixation on
light that gets through
to something unable
to reverse itself no matter what
in the slight
of regrets
in the etching
of weightless fingers
left with nothing more to do
than sway
above a delicacy of
fading bones