A tuft of brisk air…

A tuft of brisk air...

A tuft of brisk air,
Unglued and pressed
In every direction;
Kneaded across this lonely slate
With naive paws
Given to groping about
These dampened walls
With nary a method or skill.
And lo, the guards have taken post,
And have presided over forms
That seldom change
But resist transfixion.
Breathe with silent flames
And this slate comes alive,
And becomes your home again.

Art: “Mater Bedroom”
Andrew Wyeth

3 thoughts on “A tuft of brisk air…

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