A Morning Arrival par Avion

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Will you declare you will be sad in future days,

Where we will be in two hundred years,

If I were never to stand in front of my easel?

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When you dare open your soul to rest naked in front of me,

You will have been the only one capable of

Stemming my tide, interrupting the inventive flow

That will be our composition.

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I will promise in your nudity that you are a masterpiece,

You will deny to me that your bareness was ever art,

The swaying palms will scream unclothed, you must be painted

Completely, without restraint.

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Why do we try to forestall life?

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Fresh hues on wet palette will beg to become your portrait,

My brushstrokes will desire to touch your flesh,

I will have been fated to worship forever at your feet

Bound in canvas.

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You will always apologize for not being an artist,

Forgetting that you breathe in color,

Myself – I will dream, lying on a mattress of broken glass,

Bleeding pastel whenever I turn.

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The line is not the tint is not the point is naught, but

Merely instrumental to my music.

Will you realize someday that aloha can mean hello?

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