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Reflected on the glazed flat surface
of ink on paper,
your yellow orb of soft incandescence
glows in a haze of cool misty light
like a distant memory
that hovers in the present.

You are the star
that rises behind the mountains
of ink
and random gestures
that miraculously take the form
of a landscape painting.

Your luminosity is like the sun in winter:
its gentle apricity
seems to disperse the swirling clouds,
barely melting the ice on the mountaintop,
so that it glistens softly
like constellations of little twinkling clusters
that flow down the valleys
into the shadows of the hills
behind the trees and bushes and shrubs.

In the foreground below: more snow,
with tufts of grass peeking through
as if waiting for your warmth
to bring the spring that is to come.

But that is in the future not yet here,
and like the memories that brought us together,
future and past converge
in this painting,
and there is only now,

the present.


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