Painting of the Lake at Dusk

by candleships

The lake outside my window

Has taken on a resemblance to oil on land.

 

The water’s orange, in places, and brushstrokes of dark blue

Seem to give it depth in the wrong direction.

 

Only a slight shimmer on the surface of the blue

Gives the scene away as 

Not

A picture postcard.

 

The mix of sunset colours

Created a fog the colour of mustard gas on the shores of the other side,

And in the setting sun, the fall(en) trees 

Look the colour of my sister’s hair.

 

There’s a pink, glowing cloud surrounding the ski slopes

At the bottom of the scorpion-shaped white runs —

 

And then —

 

And then it’s gone.

The moment passes and the light fades, leaving only

Slight accents behind the western clouds.

 

And as the clouds thicken for night,

Pinpricks of light filter out of the blue-grey hills 

On the far shores. 

 

The oil spill on the water has now mopped itself up,

And the shimmering waves collect shadow

As the lake quiets for the night. 

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