A Poetry of Paintings

I’m standing here beside myself; I’ve forgotten who I am

The who I used to be beneath a tree with summer in his hair

Clouds, tumbling waves of moments long, long ago

A lifetime of yesterday’s lay scattered, curling sepia memories

Misting blackberry edge of the far away where shingle sharp the shore

A poetry of paintings, colours running all ways to the music of the sea

My smile is stolen; taken far out to sea by salt edge of the cutting wind

I’m standing here beside myself upon glistening golden stones

I have forgotten who I am