And Andrew...
Deborah Short-Horne Russell

yellowed light raised color highs
awakened tones wind's wings brush
against the peel of painted sill
and swirled among the limbs of sighs
i too rise from sleepy grey
and whisk the quilt's design
in kalidescopic toss and blend
as colors fused against the grain
a swish of leaves did wash a pane
sunday's arrival turbulent
in reality's precarious flight
yet heaven's mount stands firm
in the divide of clouds
and Andrew calms within the storm
of icelandic scape of sky
while my desire of June and cafe nights
weaves warm tapestries in mocha cream
and cappucino sun did rise
his beautiful mind wandering
among the glen of daffodils
and mountains rise to fall
in seas and grains does time stand still?
and eyes of brown did shine
in mystic twilight with a fragile smile
upon that troubled brow; an easement
a whispered truth endowed and pleased
the chant of paradise; and light
returning to the sky
our perishing earth below
with rivers seeking seas
of moonlight on romantic scenes
unchanging weavings sown
we still wear color wings
upon our sleeves and souls
And Andrew lands a moment
in ticking seconds of a glance
and smiles upon the flow of ink -
the smoothness of his hand.

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