Poetry and Poetics
IN CERTAIN PAINTINGS OF PAUL KLEE
Cartoonish bubbly hands
through a thick quilt of color,
patches glowing with pigmented light.
This thin world slowly resolves itself
into an order fit for a child—
one hand, one finger, one table, one fish—
these luminous, shockingly heavy things
with which we weight down our hearts
to hold them tight within our chests.
Outside the window morning is grey,
dull birds desolately circling the sky.
Within this frame, we wriggle our toes
in the blue grass in one corner,
poking our fears into fat black brushstrokes
that separate us from our nightmares,
the pale despairs of unpainted canvases.
© by Donald Stinson
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