An Echo Of words
where time follows triangles and ribbons
that suddenly become a physical place;
in a single heartbeat
a place reached
by climbing each and every plane where "we" existed;
the dream becomes real;
waves of geometry upon a canvas;
colour filling the spaces;
a dance of soul upon a piece of stretched linen;
fountains of my thoughts finding your hands, your arms;
your soul intertwining with mine upon the brushstrokes of my painting.
Lights in my studio flicker in the late hours of night.
The glass of wine stands upon my paint ridden table
blue and green reflecting in the red of irridescent liquid..
The strokes of my brush paint more and more;
elements of freeform waves;
intensity of colour;
intensity of soul upon the composition that is mine upon a piece of stretched linen.
In the late hours of night when dream and soul, emotion and logic become one
the memory of your blue eyes that held the wind in a midnight sky,
I transcend the sound of the wind and the seagulls
music flowing from my brush on to a blank canvas in the late hours of night.;
an echo inside the winter wind..