In the west 

long beams form a giant staircase

Sun streams through treetops

A bright burst around it

rainbow colored glory

Light swords

The telephone wires glow white
like morning spiderwebs.

Never has a painter more admired
the contrast of the telephone lines

against the Heavy Horse Lawrence
and the outlying cemetary, 

perhaps out of respect
or because the train tracks there divided
“Irishtown” from Lexington 
the Have-nots and Haves have halved
their husks fallen outward and sprouted
Vestiges of their beginnings linger

At this moment
the sky is turquoise, grey and a peach
which fades to white
perfectly reflecting their colors in negative
on the two houses below
Their creamy flanks 
clothed in shadow.

My House
and all those in it
and Travis’s house.

I think of how the house
(somewhat hinting at
a Dutch circus vibe),
and all the people in it,
are all of my greatest gifts
within an eggshell.

Isaac got a paper 
and now this is a house of crossword fanatics, 
leaping upon the fresh 3 am paper
in it’s thin yellow wrapping 
So many obsessions upon obsessions. 

Right now I am thinking 
of squeezing in an hour
before the sun sets
capturing the moment 
on a large, square canvas
the orange light dancing
on the clouds and old double chimneys 
next door
looking like a Lego piece
wish I knew the proper name of it-
and also of these ornamented cornices
They are a fan like, wooden decoration
in the pointiest bits
There are also 3d checker squares 
and book looking scrolls
on the lateral
and above the tall windows

Certainly colored as one of the best Hoppers

But I’ve chosen today
to be a poet not a painter
although they are the same
each word a brushstroke. 

The paint is like the words
I like very much using the least
amount of words to say something, 
but at other times I speak volumes 
on more abstract subjects 
like feelings, observations, 
almost as fun
to have as to share

Making a painting
is like studying a poem
that was given to you
by the smartest and most kind
person you know.

Even now, 
it glows orange
long after 
I have finished this poem.