water painting

Paint me a picture
of muddy ecru, cinnamon
of streets awash in mud
Pointillist sepia
glints of color
reflected from umbrellas and raincoats
flashes of christmas red and green

Of a warm pub
In early afternoon
Smoke and beer and wet wool
smells
wrinkling your nose
but it is the best place to warm
and scribble notes of the afternoon
in nottingham.


I'll paint you a picture
of crystal clear washed air
and unreasonable movember sunshine
brightness that makes squints
Sweet gums every color from liquid green
through gold and orange magenta purple
the cancan girl of trees.

Despite the shardlike brilliance
here
the weather I feel is your smoky
English cold and drip



With you gone
I lose my words.
I cannot write
or barely
The writing turns primitive
A
word
here

a word
there

But my river of words
dries up to mere splashes
on the page

Small, disconnected
discolored
tea colored pools
stagnant

No clear laughing
chattering, giggling stream.

How much of that creative
river we share
becomes inaccessible
when you're not here.