the painting and the pear

 


your feelings

nothing more
than a thin sheet of ice on
Scheck lake

                transparent and
cold

unconsecrated ground that
would give way with one
misstep

                I would find myself at a
funeral of my own making
               if I didn't watch, weigh
out the calculated risk of
              walking that narrow
crevice that divides heaven
                                         from
                                            hell

winter birds sang
  their songs in drab
         monotone colours

as I looked at you
through kaleidoscope
eyes

the vision
  reveled itself
    like a painting
           by H.Bosch...

apples can never
grow on a pear
tree