Into stiff blue scaffold sky, the starkness
of a silhouette: twilit loon, transparent
lake, and those ten thick acrylic cries.
The evening’s main liaison with death
is my mind, which gives grieving this
loon’s figure graven in air. As if you followed
life to its logical conclusion, opening
a path to the abstract where specificity
startles. And just as the basic facts
of the bigger canvasses are hard to discern,
the bird’s edgeless form blurs into blue,
into orange. Into red-framed squares of sky
defying all efforts to focus the edges
of loss. Bird dispersed, the arc of its final
flight reveals a somehow solid field
of color in my barely sketched-out scene.