we
dance...
each
daubs
a color....
yours, orange.....
mine, chartreuse...
yours, azure
mine, rose madder....
these colors do not touch....
they do not bleed...
dancing
on
a canvas
each
color
is
an
act
of
playful, questioning
speech...
of
silence....
again, speech....
again...
a burnished silence.....
flamenco
calls
from
the room
next door.........
a proud vibrato.....
the colors
on the canvas
answer....
quiver...
pulse....
feast on the rhythms....
delilah contrapunctal.... yes, that's how I intended to spell it.........
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/grenoble/
