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                         (Reproduction of a painting by Tony Morgan)
 

        
                                WOMAN WITH A RED FISH

                                                                 
                                           pink again
                                       North Sea blue
                                                   that's you –

                                        Seeing you
                                                 in a moment like this
                                 he thought he shd have been 
                                         smelling fish

                                    Hands, playing with it

                              A rather apt portrait of a lady
                                       in her late twenties, perhaps
                                   The Encounter 
                                 Call it, “The Encounter”

                                     A cheeky mouth
                                if you know what I mean
                                        The lips – 
                                                         a line
                                     and again, a line
                                                     scratched – 
                                                and then, the soft
                                                          softly applied 
                                                                              white

                                                 the outline 

                                         a certain way to let it speak – 
                                                     trace of movement – 
                                                  time instilled in a
                                                                           still life
                                                    a moment 
                                                                        on that canvas
                                                full of memories
                                                        of retracable hours
                                                                     of work
                                                            while getting to know
                                                                              this face
 
 

                                                I, too, have seen it
                                               A visitor, at the time
                                                     lover of the painting
                                               not of the one it depicted
                                                        who was there, too
                                                        out of the blue – 
                                                           the bright, clear
                                                                 quiet blue 
                                                               of the sky

                                           I see the Sea, see a fish market sky
                                                        Such Dutch weather!
                                                             And a red fish
                                                                     tops it !

                                                              Like a saucy hat 
                                                             it is adorning your 
                                                                     azur eyes
                                                           from which beauty cries
                                                                 now, from the depth
                                                                        of the mirror

                                                           Of their green glow,
                                                       of meadows,  summer hours
                                                   leaves of lemon trees rustling in the wind
                                                                           I sing 
 
 

                                                       
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