Bridges in the Pines Water Lily Pond By Claude Monet Acquired from AllPosters.Com Previously published by the Writer's Hood, May, 2001

Did we share some metaphors among the pines last Easter, around a brook with spanning mirrored bridges; our sources flowing as the memory flows, or as the spring's blood flows, the axe-trimmed railings tracking our trestled passage to the templed penetralia of ourselves? April had an early chill about her, her probing fingertips traced water circles round the bridge's cedar legs, and cast her clouded eye upon some faded recollection of a bridge at Giverny; an old Monet seated at his easeled peace near garden pond, brush stirring shattered light to shape on eye and endless instant. The flickered eyelid blinks a brook with bridges back again; and passing through this quietude of place, I wondered if your thoughts trailed color from pines to bridge and footpath. Mind did, until they vanished in the budded whisks of bush and bundle-needled pine. ( What's true wants always to be hidden.) And if you left a bit of self behind, as I, a color, gaze or sigh, standing more exposed to April's chilly fingers than before, we must do nothing more than smile this loss away.

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