My mind an Altamira cave
Colours and shapes
Find communion in darkness
A light illuminates
Occasionally and I see
A design, a pattern,
But lightly formed
Like some faded painting.
Animals, edges, angles
Circles, spots, spaces.
Representation
Is a second creation.
Without light, did
We enter another world
Of mutability?
Only a narrative
Is needed, words
We fail to find.
Come out of the cave
Scribble on rock
Inscribe upon stone
And let it stand
For all to see.
The sun pours out
A river of light
That makes
A salmon sea
Just like that first
Fauvist work
By Matisse.
Perfection fills
Our tired eyes
In a glimpse
Of something
Rare and fleeting
A connection,
A line, an image
Dessiccated in a second.
We rest in that
Opiate-like state
Of relaxed weariness,
Calm in act and thought,
Observers of self and world,
Slowly filling with bliss.
And then silence
Returns to embrace
Each structure
Like the clearing
Of a Quaker mind,
And we are left
With nothing but
Liquid memories
Seeping away from
The worn topsoil.
As alien as another
Culture, religion.
Inside Dali's brain
A Pantheon-like head
Explodes into the world
Of my mind.
I excavate the rubble
Piece together
The spaces in between
And I am outside
Gazing up at
The Sagrada Familia,
Whilst lying beside you
Staring at the sea
From Hartland Quay Hotel.
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EmmyB