(for Carol)
If I could write as
Sally Smart can paint,
I'd articulate all
the unspoken things my inmost heart -
vulnerable and unprotected
- feels when I am lucky enough
to be with you, whose
face and nature propel me
into the light of
butterflies, buttercups, dragonflies,
swallows, swifts,
jasmine and willow boughs...
prunus blossoms in
the morning light...
unplanned moments
of delight...
All darting, sibillant,
hushed, waiting, bright-eyed loveliness
resides in you; your
being, perceived piecemeal in formless waves...
normless continuous
Nature... cleanses me as Sally's line
(and tumbled absence
of line) cleanses Australian art.
Your eyes people the
world with laughter, gilded gifts, songs without words,
as Sally's works strip
the world of art of all detritus.
As I can barely write
-
and lack Sally's
unforgivable
unexpectedness-
I ask only that you,
in whom form and spirit
dance in unexpected
perfected equipoise,
will listen and look
into my silences
to note this heart,
so cleansed by yours, is still
as unexpected, as
sure, as unpredictable yet
reliable, as is the
ever lovely art of Sally Smart.
