For Georgia O Keefe

images.jpeg a street
You knew
the life of
art straddles
the edges of
a knife
the moment you painted
a flower that grew from
the edges of
a canvas
from the borders past
to horizons present
the moment you sensed
the edges of
dreams and reality
where ideas hovered
just below consciousness
when your ghosts became real
the edges of
pleasures and pain
where you traveled to escape
when your mind framed
the sky before its blur
illuminated a building
the edges of
a day of jazz and art
which won’t go away
but hums in the head
the edges of
notes from the brush or a pen
to the page when marks
stop being marks
and become meaning.

~ by dianeklammer on February 20, 2013.

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