By Mary Bless Flores
On the blank canvas of my life,
his variegated work added liveliness.
When inspiration dwindled into a hole
of nothing, he was there;
a pen at hand
to outline my thoughts and illustrate a picture
of a better tomorrow.
The pencil traced a dull grey line,
he erased it with a stroke
of vibrant eccentric colors that awed my very eyes.
I was a minimalist that dripped black and white
but his words and touch bled a rainbow
of ocean blue, scarlet red and pine green.
Into my veins they flowed, a part of me.
Once the bristles dipped into charcoal black,
a palette of dark distress,
he would take it out of my hand
replacing it with a brush
dipped into a pigment of red,
warmth and love.