The Artist

We studied light and shadow
from the beginning and always
the essence of the lessons
was in the distilling
and balancing of the two
in every detail–the subtle curve
of red apples in an earthen
brown bowl against the crinkled
skin of the oranges, the worn
leather of the mud
spattered boot, or light
that plays in the eyes
and on the faintly upturned lips
of a flirtatious young girl
gradually fading to a demur
pout under the shadow
of her mother’s reproachful
glance. Finally we came
to the landscapes, the uneven
terrain highlighted by dawn,
pink and shaded with the lingering
evening shadows, the wild
dogwood and cottonwood trees–
light blossoms against the gnarled
black and gray bodies, Easter
breezes diffusing snowy wafers
like stars over emerald meadows.
Then there is the wide sky,
the stars of heaven, liquid light stark
against the cold flat darkness of night,
so unlike the life that crowds
this narrow space below. I have grown
certain in my faith
that the infinite ranks of stars
must be inhabited by souls
who once knew the gentle
cunning of light and shadow.