The Call (after Remedios Varo)

Perhaps when summoned the true heroine ventures forward on a solitary journey away from the pale of society to a zone unknown – toward dark birds that will attend her from the hollows of nearby trees. Not the world in reverse, but the reverse of the world.

Maybe as light from the star to which she is attached suffuses her body with an otherworldly glow, the painter remembers. She does not paint time, but the moments when time is resting. Only the canvas is real.

in memory of Barbara Nell Hunt (1953-2013) - friend, poet, writer, wise woman, thinker, activist whose sharp wit, sense of humor and kind words probed the possibilities of a woman's creative power.  
http://www.legacy.com/EnhancedObit/EnhancedObit.aspx?PersonID=167077699

Attempting the Impossible 2 (collaboration with Tania P)

Perhaps the cord that tethers ability to success is both loose and elastic. As you bring your hands together, fingers pointing toward heaven, face scrunched in abject concentration, clear visions of inevitability are often no more than eyes behind binoculars, or legs speeding the distance of a stationary bicycle.

Maybe heaven's frame is the body, heart exacting rent from the mind in a velvet purse that secrets a hole and thus never quite fills with coins. Sidling sideways like Chagall's bride drifting through Chagall's blues, the seamstress sleeps in a rocking chair on the front porch, dreaming of empty canvasses.