In the frame delineated from thought The wine of soul that poureth red In portrait the frame in grand Things in feelings that find ways From cognition to the twists The fingers and eyes for the color Seen as real the imagination The spectator connected in creation Still a mirror to the self it reveals Seeing what ought and not real The shine in eyes the artist’s night Love or commissioned sold cheap Higher it fetches when taketh the soul The creator like Soul has taken Colors immense on the tip of brush The face of the beloved was engraved But the words she spoke in echoes When God spoke in descension Words like rain dropp for the thirsty Words written or in memory In rhythm with form to move The great being exhorts in thought Words are prayers for he heareth Nothing but words when the drama Words wrote the great dramatist Lyrical went the raptures of love Whispers gone deep to the heart Unspoken is what was not spoken In opposition is the spoken silence Many words did the eye speak When letters of love in blood I loved thy image but sorrow It bringeth for consumed by time Words I remember spoken or written My words go to thy image in space Between the known and the unknown Between the word and the image My words are but my images My images but my words 1/4/2009
