Showing posts with label poems on the counter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poems on the counter. Show all posts

Sunday, September 27, 2020

You might imagine


a star breaking through night.  Or you might image night holding a star in place.  The rose color is pure Baziotes, and always welcomed.  Although this is not his style of gesturing.  Perhaps it's beets giving up their red to ricotta.  Obviously, the poem waits on the kitchen counter.