"Tree in Santa Barbara",
my California roots spread wide
unseemly deep fill my frame
and take for granted what I have become

"Fallbrook" is golden
built of trees made of sunlight
picture of an aspiring mind
a little green before the open door

unforgettable "Untititled" curve
a moment's memorial to where out of nowhere
my heart opened here to plant tree cliff
bridge and stream that flows under*

"Untitled" too this light remembrance
space that I will fill
what waits on this empty street
the whiteness of possibility**

"Untitled" graphic chart of linear becoming
what is and what is not leaning
into overwhelming signature of being
animal seaside city bird tree ***

"Tree Study" maze to solve
eyes follow paths of sap
heart full of the assumed unseen
roots and foliage

"Untitled" trees collect strange alphabets
indecipherably marked he copies them
exactly as a map so as not to forget****
the way home

in the forest of "Banana Trees" before fruiting
pointillistically seeded with the about to be peeled
poised for moon's crescents
to rise and fall uncovered into our mouths

two white birds have come to "Manzanillo"
by my golden house I wear red
and wait with my two yellow boats
for tomorrow and tomorrow

At "The Zion" one brave barren tree
shows the way to reach the summit by imagination
of its boughs perspective touches the uppermost
with one reach of small dark twig's finger

I am "The Bather" I wait uncovered
patient for the two birds of now and now
they fly toward my feeling as I look into the sea
all wake of past this endless pool of whiteness

02/26/2008

Author's Note: Milford Zornes, whose paintings these verses honor, passed away in his sleep last Sunday, a few weeks after celebrating his 100th birthday. It was while I was writing the above stanzas today at the gallery, that I found out that this had happened. I could feel the influence of that knowledge seep into my poems. I felt I had lost a dear firend. For though I had never met him (but hoped he would be able to be at the gallery on the day of our reading) I have spent hours close to the inspiration for his art. One does not get closer than that. Sigh. * Untititled #55; ** Untitled #60; ***Untitled #53; ****Untitled #63

Posted on 02/27/2008
Copyright © 2025 Kathleen Wilson