Dream your life in watercolours,
Live your life in oils,
Frame your canvases with time and distance;

Hang each by a silver thread,
In a windowed gallery of memories,
Exhibit often and without discrimination;

Celebrate the beauty in your clumsiest brushwork,
Accept the imperfections in your mastery,
Reshape your truths, as light plays and colour transforms.

Carry me with hands, cold blue
In the night of grey hue, to a wooden canoe,

Then take me up to the church that's lost in the forests of silence and cherry birch,

You will find it in musks of fragrance, with probverbs of inspiration, oils of medication, songs of meditations, temptations of frustrations and the root of all creations
Lay me there with my relations,

But before you lay me, sway me with the kiss of innocence, on one another's lavender lips
Under the night of a lunar eclipse
In a frozen sky and numb fingertips,

When all is as it is, let it be
You must betray me
You must decay me
Listen and obey me
When I say you could not pursaide me,

I will be leaving even externally,
Without doubt and uncertainty,
My dead body will be eternally
And I will live in the taste of eternity

beneath me
are oil stains
charting my way to victory

The minutia of cotton fledglings, I play them over and over
In my head, the most enjoyable, a layer of dynasty added to
The mallard kingdom. And a rocking horse swims across
Each pond too, its head heaves and nags creating massive, huge,
Undulating circles around circles. One more coat of gesso and then
Even I, in my speckled red paint Commune jeans, and holy holy Protestant tee shirt, I can travel the world; maybe even brush up on my
Cuyp.

Whipping through the sedge-brook grass, busting out, shooting Through the other mucilaginous nimbuses rolling
Outward first, then fled upward into the beacons of the heavens-
Shouting, whistling, oozing albicant heraldic pillars and shields.

Twenty more colours to mix.
Together, the mallards and ewes and rocking horse, and I;
prancing, little dots, filing into order. Where nursing
Against the sunken pillows of grain, I enter each round of
This papyrus jungle. Neatly folding my hands around each
Milky white shade, rushing out  into the aurulent sunglow. .