To Walk in His
He built his palette
around the ragged colors
of her tortoise-shell calico,
piled like earth
in a sunny corner.
His worn soul
embraced the folds
of those crumpled old shoes,
shredded laces, wilted leather
scuffed with the stuff of a life
that beat paths through
fields of irises, sunflowers, wheat,
the streets of Arles, and
dreams lost to the night sky.
© Elaine Frankonis