Her delicate hand
smooths the page before she starts
looking into it
at who may be there..
(There is someone peeping out…)
from the white come the palest grays
which melt the heart on summer days
which cool the brow
when the heat sets in…
Which are like life
between the black and white.
I like her and her heART.
I admire how she conjurs
like the sweetest witch,
images as delicate as china
concepts which flutter like leaves
which rest in light piles on the conscious.
She becomes still when the paper speaks
When it is her own face there
Her as a child, a teen, a dream-
She has the power to Manifest.
And the Grace to carry that burden -
In a world of spittle and Yuck.