Gretchen Johnsen

In Cimiez, behind a shaded lens,
Matisse repaired the tissues
Of an unforgotten Eden.
An oceanic sleep,
A paradise
Composed to fill the space
Between the longing and its visions;
The ending, like the origin,
A broken light,
The prism caught in time.

In Venice
A chapel window
In the winter sun
Has claimed the remnant colors
of our lives.
(They come to rest, at mass,
Upon the shoulders of a priest.)


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