a doctorate a fellowship

you
are alive
but the leaf
is
dead
winter is painted
and hanging
on the
back wall
your
body is on the
easel
in charcoal
and
school is
out for the summer
where are my
colours
all the life that was
discussed
within class
i peer inside the forest
while it
rains on the
canopy above
my
car moving down
the
hill
trying to catch
a glimpse
of
you running free
the
leaf dries
and crumples in your hand
you
blow it away from
soft flesh
on a breeze of
moisture
towards calgary
and talk
about winnipeg
saying
goodbye to your
mother in
l.a
the biltmore
awaits
all it’s paintings on the
back wall
winter does not live there
and neither
does
fall
and neither do you
all the colours
running on an
ocean breeze
settling
back here
in
ontario
and waiting first
crops
by farmers
and first bloom in
flower beds
where your picture
is
on the garden line
a pushed
stick in the ground
marking a
string line
of bright summer readiness
outlined
in charcoal and
bbq dreams