three rivers triptych


he lifts his hands and wipes fat brushes over shiny clusters
attentive to sound (as an image) the owl’s nocturnal call
figures in his thoughts
as he fastens his gaze and paints (something akin to)
a night bird’s song
night becomes apparent in the colours that night allows
a sky has its satellites its shooting stars
falling in his hands and shining eyes
onto canvas

his son’s chair

(for the two dieters)

in the wilderness where he wakes he also sleeps
working paints onto a canvas as wide as night
sharp as the stretched colours that peak so vivid

                                         (and should the painting ask
can you hear that?)  you could say
that the eye frames the sound of an ocean at your feet
the sound of offshore winds blowing in
the movement of leaves in the forest and you know
what night occludes doesn’t cease
for lack of seeing and all that there is 
is only ahead or behind
a central position  
                                            an empty chair facing east
(details he labours as smudges and drips decorate his limbs)
before he wakes he paints a fire close to keep his son warm



on the headland two forms face
they shape from the rock itself

in intimate recline a landscape falls
its air its water its rock

clouds scud and tumble the sun
each shade each texture

in this progression of light
every change every weather
the way sound carries through winter
art makes clear

poet's biography ->