The hand of an artist

 The eternal Claire Jennings
A piece of nature before and after the insignificant glint of existance
The potent magic of art the eye once alive
brings the observer as the serpent upon an empty earth

the canvas pale and uninvented preghost tool
Of all the insights hot warm, cold and cruel
Contrasts of life´s randomness longing for order
the fleeting supernatural 

The eternal artist intoxicated by color
saluting the ocean with a heartvalve
On those edible hills
this human human feast

The curve of the land in your hands
our cacophony in your swirl
echoing over the hard floors of your studio
like a raven who broke into your house

The unsound and uncertain whispering till their faces formed
their smiles and gestures reaching through you like children to cake
and then onto the canvas eccentric and uninvited
onto the checkerboard where humanity jousts

Light was given wings, darkness fire
and black and white squares dictated our lives like age
withering into an elaborate joke that could both taunt and confound
both quirk and smirk and befuddle the onlooker

The eternal woman of the wave of the paint of old winara
of Inverlockie and of the haunted sunset garden
Of the gull squawk and the dusk consciousness
Of the fruiting tree and the lonely hatman

How did you digest the sourness of old age
and with strength greet me here in midlight
How did you wrap yourself into the wind
While the rest of them deceased and decayed

Your strength and voice still marking my days
invigorating my veins
instigating my words
and annexing new realms
that our future selves will consume