untitled II
I knew a boy who liked to paint,
each piece a tessselation,
a labyrinth
of color and jagged edges.
Some so loud
I cowered, hands over ears,
others hushed
like petals on a flower
falling.
I think he was trying to say
something about the nuances
of beauty
but he got on a boat one day
and sailed
far, far away;
his paintings a blazing heap
on the beach.
(maybe they meant nothing at all.)