I Dream Of A Large Studio

[after the essay by the artist Miro dreamed, not read]

I dream of a large studio,
forest greens, the sun folded like a rose into gleams
and I will send

the petals of pink phrases down
each tea rose afternoon
like St. Therese

or compose the ivory sainted clouds.

the clouds sing: space to breathe, fortes
and change colours as if they 
were Easter eggs severally tinted

and isn't it tangerine splendid that
whatever you tell, turns into lime stucco poems
where anyone could dwell, really,

if they wanted to,with verve-

happy in light, in the simmering of delight
in whatever is sent and in the glint of
fairy tale laughter, after: the

dreamed of the

dreamed of
the widest windows drinking in the cream or
where, when the jeweled bird of night flows in

sweet everywhere, to stare at you
through an open screen
with a golden, concerted eye,and somewhat, shy-

you are impelled

to reach to the ceilinged skies
and snatch for yourself or others
a peach shade- happenstance

quite whimsically portrayed or,
of a sudden:
this snow of stars, of shimmering pears

of lemon froth, half caught in the sieve
all on a dare
that a masterpiece may take place

mary angela douglas 8,9 january 2016