Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Through the window, two ladies promenade
Under blue sky in bonnets with white plumes.
This is the room they'll return to at six
When all flowers and reflections fade.
The pointing of the mauve glove assumes
There is significance in the crucifix.
One goldfish appears to be frightened,
The other dull-witted, perhaps just bored.
They are on the edge of being enlightened,
Their faith in something soon to be restored.
For years they've watched the golden doves
Kissing, envied the drooping of their wings.
There is perfection when nothing moves,
When the gold light dies with the evening.
Note: The first lines refer to reflections in the
fishbowl. Click on the image to enlarge it,
which will make the reflected images more