drop seeps to a flat abstraction
pulled to a bloom across black-still.

Slow ripple moves to perfection
becoming whole from the inside out.

This is no Monet
squeezed pigments plastered on white

no trapped fleeting, holding still
an inimitable flash.

Here, colour-float spreads swirls
held fast by not quite meeting

capillary motion draws a slow passing
and no lasting proof of the once-hovered hue.

I wrote this poem for last weekend’s Greytown Arts Festival. You can read about our poetic adventures on Mary’s blog and more Tuesday Poems here.