Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Rothko In White

"let him lie in fields of white,"
she said, and left me there
to wind the shroud
to lower the cloud
to find my own way home
"what is this fog, what is this mist?"
he said from the back of his eyes
"where is the pier
that brought me here?"
but only bubbled foam
and who is he? and who is she?
where am I in this play?
she's up, he's gone
and I am down
to find more stickes and stones

look at the space
he implored
the place between void
the moment barely seen

again he beseeched
feel the tension
the relation
the virility of finger paint

as she lay there stupified
counting the ways
time carved its mark
in air

gritty, pulled the finger across
paper not too smooth
it's finished now
there's no more paint no more
of space to separate
it's done, it's finished
with that last tactual streak:
I'll walk the path
between you're fears
there's no more fence
the paper tears
before it separates.
Get used to above, get used to below
my finger has finished it's work