Immaculata Abba, Rosebury Avenue, May 2017

you must be master of the mists.
the closer I look at you
the more you wrap yourself in fog.
you’re a mystery, man, woman, or which one are you?
you appear as if you don’t appear.
when you come, you come riding the waves as
early as dew-time, like the lost sailor of the previous night charging at shore with the turbulence of the tides
and you sweep by in a whirlpool of haze before
one can say hey! you linger like
a deliberate menace, leaving a trail i must fear to tread.
you’re an apparition, a dream in daylight, and if i’m to paint you exactly as you are,
how do i make the world see what i see?