There is no wall between the landscape
Parallel lines split clean passed
Pastel symmetry divided by stucco walls,
Vivid but barren
The colors do not blur,
but blend against the brush
Geometry stilted against memory
A lasting gaze
A woman leans against the pane,
Outside looking in.
More feral at heart than the cats
That’ve claimed her chairs.
A wild thing,
that tree plucked
clean by pulpy hands
Flesh happy to have picked flesh
Now resting on a clothed table
Until dusk inherits the red
Resting against shoulders
We can cover with our thumbs
How has it happened that a piece
can be held in your hands,
possessed, purchased, & owned
But never really known?