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He is arrived
On the threshold of my life,
Augur of great Promise
Precursor of my Joy.
A metamorphosed Rodin bronze
My heart oft speculates
What rapture it might be
Acclimating to his nearness.
Panoply of colors rich and earthy
Raw umber, sienna, hematite
Flow gracefully in the symphony
of portrait in motion
He is.
Smiles and mood transposing with equal facility
Shifting subtly
Shadows and light dappling his countenance.
Worshipping,
I view him
As one worships in the Louvre,
Desperate to commit
Each violently beautiful hue and brush stroke
To memory
Acutely mindful
That memory
Is the only ownership
Available to me.
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