By RAHN ADAMS
The blues in her pelican painting / always smack me square in the face; / she has a knack for drawing out / what’s hiding in my head.
It was how Michelangelo sculpted David — / by chiseling away everything / that wasn’t a sexy young hunk / in that hard Carrara marble.
I miss seeing those pelican patrols / above the breakers just off the beach, / cruising low, rising, falling / in an oscillating parade of sine waves.
I said “square in the face,” / but her sea and sky are triangles / and trapezoids, diamonds and rhombi / with white space on the wing.
We all draw the same blanks / when we try to reveal the real thing / in the blues we choose / and in the ghostly grace notes we play and sing.
May you have a lot of blue spaces ahead with frolicking grace notes.
Thanks, Neal. Same to you!