The gentle-man, beside his car,
more in front than rear/more
to the engine/motor than to
the doors, but, he was painting,
a much-stroked blue, beneath
the sun, and, though he knew
, from mind, ten ways ’bout which
to onward-go, he paused, in
reflection, brought to cause of
calendar’s wake, a memory/a
fantasy of finger, lifted, raised,
pointed at from drape of He,
and, in this white-covered-brown
tunic, He began to, through canvas
, lift from page, from thinnest
material to a tower, slabbed,
drenched in day’s workings and
the material, the hands of blue-
worker, David, a well-spoken
, gentle-man, whose times
were before him from his
‘versaries, 3 or 4 prior-made,
being worked on from mind’s
softest point, a sharpening
let be blunt to they who may
see but colors without the depth
, the plurals of a wading scene.
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