"lady vermeer"

        in memory of doris, my mom

poem

can't sing a lick,

do the rumba, cha-cha

& is definitely not

a lindy hopper

nor can she cook

good tho

turns out a mean

chicken soup

& she isn't

into xmas, new years

birth-, emphatically not

mothers day

nor does she wrap gifts

but

when the sun

beams, thru

moving

hair, blue

hawk eye, gleams on

earring, thru moving

hand, finger

brush, touches

paper, she is

alchemists

mistress, lady

vermeer,

pure

light

from "Playland"