Suspense in my window, an empty scene,
Nothing in the foreground, all just landscape.
Field, forest, all potential to reshape
My canvas - focus on a new Christine*.
To say that joys and sorrows will convene;
Sketch an outline, choose colors of escape
Or seal my confinement in black crepe,
Speaks of today - tomorrow unforeseen.
Soft-lipped brush begins to emerge, to grow,
To sprout from secret seeds in old soil,
Graced by sun, watered with tears of gray skies.
Bruises of lies now cast a pale shadow
On a palette purged of long-past turmoil.
Landscape serene - its emptiness denies.
* Reference to Andrew Wyeth's painting,