Unfurled by Dawn

All down the coast,
the headlands slope to the sea,
windows of houses thick
with wild wisteria.
Wind blows pass in whispers,
lightly rocking the easel
in front of me.

Paintbrush in hand, I pause
and feel it all rush over me —
words never uttered,
though curling tidal on my tongue,
dreams lost amid trackless waves,
yet always drifting in the lilt of my heart.

The salty tang of nostalgia
lingers in the mist,
a gossamer of past lives
given up to time and tide.

Broken things lie frothing
along the sea edge,
their luster long faded,
beckoning the coming dawn
to drench them golden.

Tender half-light and pauses
in between a seagull’s soliloquy
wrap around me. I count the breaths
till it happens, and then

with a flourish, the sky unfurls
into a luscious panoply
of dawn-lit hope.
On crisp white canvas,
I paint the crimson rhapsody,
the spark within me
lost in the weave of time,
and with each glossy brushstroke,
flutter it back to life again.

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