THE FOUR SEASONS oil on panel 26in. x 18in. ±66cm. x 45.7cm.
THE FOUR SEASONS Such words; they do not come My eyes press tight - My thoughts; they irksomely burn Squares on the floor, stringent and stern and I have not the words Nevertheless, in the arcane of strain, I see the shine of a dress A formidable pose The lush of silk cloth like the cloak of a throne I see an innocent gaze in the guise of a bride Or is she too young, too pure, a maiden implied? I imagine for her to never know pain To dance deft in her web, shedding the rain I see two birds in black and a cat I still love All three are gone, levied by time, now rendered thereof Squares on the floor, stringent and stern and I have not the words So I am left in the fog, a colorless calm of an unknowable scene A picture that brings memories of life, and what seems like a dream Two gold canaries, one lived for years and sang in the sun The other unnamed and died too young A black cat I painted, time and again Hypnotic she stays as in life she had been The music, the strings, they chant like a ghost - cross liquid, cross bridges, in Venice with hope My eyes press tight, my bones hark with love Five violins. Three cellos that ring. One statue above I see the eyes of my Aunts as they lay in their beds I feel their eyes turn to me; in marble, in art, as children instead The music consoles the dampening clocks There is sadness in memories, in seasons, in time and love lost Closed are my eyes Memories and music within Perception unfolds as the dust settles clear - The scene that I see brings something to me Something much more I see the lives I still love: The lives, the strings, the hearts of the past that dark Venice brings My head falls forward, my feet scuff the stone, living in dreams and winter's return I see the squares on the floor Stringent and stern and I have not the words