Light Shines on the Illuminated Manuscript
Warm wax. Flat knife. How turning each page keeps me hovering longer! Let’s hold hands over the hydrangea bush come alive by repainting. Where does red change to purple on drooping heart of the fuchsia? Relentless the tremor of ice crystals. Creamy layers of snowflakes along curved branches of a lilac with flowers long absent. Artisans of ink say it is forbidden to believe that objects are nothing. What splash of dark footprints divides the page into quarters? Find entry into narrative suspension. Feather-tip brush of a mystery monk bound out of her womanhood. Long ago, they transformed lapis skies under melted wax.
Glint of light from the hive hut suffices. Watercolor wash gentle tea from the garden will coat the next page in a pale green aquamarine. Deep gaze at the page can moderate any ego. Solemn stare. Invoke sun before descent into dark. Be wary if wax drips from a reading candle onto unbound pages of winter when petals are dry.
