Arles, Whidbey

Deltaic deposits deepen hues—

not green, but that green,

not blue, but that blue—

In the small museum,

a masterpiece of starry sky

is orbited on loan—

semi-circled field-trip kiddos

respond in chorused ouis—

see: raised brushstroke swirl,

see: constellations reflected

in lamplight geometry—

Mid-day, mid-June,

we trek to find the spot—

that river view, that

bend-in-bank—

too-hot, we stumble

back to shade gelatos—

A month & continent away

your father (a painter)

steps to my side

as we admire a row

of lavender & someone

en plein air complains

the scene is mis-composed

(a power-line cuts through ...)

your father smiles,

& gestures out—art

isn’t for capturing

what’s there