I imagine, arms outstretched, I embrace
the very essence of the artist's oils
as paint dissolves in swirls of pulsing grace,
freed from the gilt of gesso bordered walls.
These cherubim are poised on fragile wings
to fly towards the welcome of my arms,
and gently lift me up, a heart that sings
and soars beyond the realms of earthbound qualms.
In time I'll ask them back with me to earth,
where we will paint the city pavements gold,
and fill the hearts and souls of men with mirth,
instilling joy in all, both young and old.
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Author Notes
Photo by the author, at the Metropolitan Museum of Art last week with my granddaughter.
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