There’s Something About Texture
My boy’s tiny fingers twisted
Through silky dark threads
Knotted, bumpy woven into
Enormous flower heads
Delicate as Queen Anne’s lace,
Bobbing approval above narrow cattails
Or dancing radiant under evergreen boughs.
Round, smooth-as-silk berries
Coated intense red,
Tucked safe into thousands of tiny leaves,
And stretched over the rippling water.
Paint trailing under a brush
Light space and dark, starts and stops,
Hiccupping thick layers to mimic reality,
Leaves breathing like velvety buttercream atop
The cricket chirp lays down the ratcheting, rhythm
And a bird’s sharp call jive
Cutting through it all.