imprinting its lined shadows on closed blinds—
vertical and horizontal borders
of window frames melding with long, aligned
pinstripes of sheaths—creating sharp, ordered
spaces as if Mondrian had entered
through silent dark of our sleep and blessed us
with his artist’s grace, left us a centered
universe of shadow and light. Breathless
in its presence, we hold each other, gaze
with a mute reverence, recognizing
how rising sun sets our canvas ablaze,
as if Rothko stalked in, realizing
how little time we have left, then bellowed
in bright colors of orange and yellow.
Roger Armbrust
January 26,
2014
