Of introduction whilst the painting grows
To fullness and the viewer slowly knows -
As with the steps of melody or rhyme -
What fired the painter's brush. Sublime
On first encountering the eye, art flows
Directly past the questions thoughts impose
And nestles like an arrow in its prime
Recipient, the heart. My words belong
To time and space and stumble through their praise,
Whilst even birds need sequence for their song;
But paintings come, as lovers come, down ways
That know no past or future, right or wrong,
And give of their abundance as we gaze.
