Cleveland friends: You know the Georges Seurat painting ,
Sunday in the Park with George?
Well, here is a poem, Sunday at the Museum with Rembrandt:
Snow turned blackened crust
four months old and counting.
a magnet yearning for a mate.
respite from melancholy Sundays.
Kiss Renoir’s Romaine Lacaux.
check on Degas’ dancers
Van Gogh’s poplars at St. Remis
Monet’s garden at Giverny.
Wishing-well once magical.
mummies once formidable.
the Armor Court “don’t thrill me now.”
different passions beckon.
A Sunday date with Rembrandt and his rabbi.
tête-à-triosClose . . . close . . .
too close
warns the gray-haired guard.
Light out of darkness. darkness from light
talk to me, Master Rembrandt.
monochrome transcendence
spontaneous solitude, refined light
flame of inspiration fused into one.
Haunt me
rouse me.
comfort me.
reveal to me.
Surface cracks.
infinite dusk.
breathe in
exhale. wait. still.
Return to snow turned blackened crust
four months old and counting.
Thank you. dear museum for the hours of respite in your spaces.