Poet's Pub

Monet by David Taylor

i sit on my porch, breathe the morning.

dawn's light leaps like a ballerina

across the air to form a rainbow

that caresses my cheek

like a warm autumn kiss.

clouds roam the chilled sky,

try to ignore all that pass beneath,

but find it futile to battle

the sun's reflections as they reach

to join with the canvassing earth.

my life is a Seurat painting;

i try to step away to find the beauty

yet am trapped too close to chaos,

swallow its ugliness.

i search for my breath,

see a drop of paint far in the distance

surrounded by nothing.

i wander through the emptiness

to join with its red, moist texture.

our drops become one,

form a mixture of passion,

while brush strokes form

a painting within our drops of hue.

i find my breath in our painting,

step away to find the beauty

not of a Seurat, but of a Monet.