Of Easel and Wine Press

My, what a fretwork of artwork we hold

Frames filled with claims, lent by God

Glimmers of cobalt and shimmers of gold

Tickle Time’s trembling facade

Ah, what an awesome Invitation, This

Rife with life’s breath-by-breath ‘oh’

Showers and flowers and hours we miss

And some we kiss once and let go

Duty is beauty in common disguise

Thank He who sends it each day

Savor the flavor where soon noon-day’s Prize

Like footprints in sand wash away

Well, well, we say, then the gray of goodnight

Brushes from sight, window-scapes

Thought traces places naught erases quite

It sips wine pressed from yester-shapes

What are we making of this holy haste ?

Eyes and ears, mouths, fingertips

Say, what will season the vintage we taste

When we lift thought’s glass to our lips

Darling, the arbor is heavy with grapes

Autumn insists on its due

Ah, something stirs; it blurs brawny landscapes

Shattered by silver and blue

© Janet Martin