…Speckled on their backs like fawns…

Right here is where my picture was taken (to promote my gallery opening, -was it 7 years ago? I forgot to even ask myself)
With a powder blue Mercedes
I am holding a taped box, gifted moments ago in the turning lane of Richmond Rd, which contains a piece of art made from that photo. 
Both made and given by a man about to move to Atlanta, dressed in the same powder blue as the other friend’s Mercedes (the one who used his car in the photo)
You are like Luke Skywalker, I yell in encouragement, off to Degabar!
He replies..”That’s really strange
I was just listening to an interview with him not 20 minutes ago” and trails off
And we talk for a moment as if we weren’t standing in the middle of the turning lane between the medians of Richmond Rd, but it’s Sunday evening, and it’s slow moving, though the man is quick to pull away, jumping quickly into his car and whirling off like a startled rabbit.

There is something about love that binds everything together, all of these ins and outs, the stage directions placing choreographed steps in time
There is a very young rabbit, his tiny ears just visible above the grass towards the peony fields, I suppress the urge to run and attempt to grab it,
Some young robins, two that I spot first in the low branch of a walled garden tree, another one running along the ground outside the lichened brick walls.

They are speckled when they’re young, like fawns
And I think of the sprawling ears of fawns, catching the slight movements in the surrounding space
And I know there is something magical whispering here 
The Blue Ash spotlighted with violet greens, waiting for it’s soon to be portraits,
The fairie tree nearly torn apart
–it’s been less than a year-
less than a year and it’s wide walls moved apart by eager, exploring little hands, its impossibly large branch removed beside it, only a day after I had painted it, and it hundreds of years old-
And here-
by an old Spruce’s multitude of dangling sleeves, 
the impression of a Thursday session, painting with an apprentice,
still marked in the grass,
the memory of gazing towards the south east still 
stirring my limbs