the unsigned painting

there must be a golden frame

coming to me

'cause where are you?

where are you?

where are you?

the very day when you first heard

your heart beat

listens for you still

so i think

it's not so much the painting

as what you give yourself

by what you leave

your signature. on sundays the ladies

took off their wiry

old hats and

made donuts in the back of

the church. i can

smell them cooking in middle of mass

cakes are prizes at carnivals

holding handsthat's a gift

of our landscapes

for the heart is always

that one summer night

you stretch it from face to face

like chewing gum. you can rig it up

and hear each other through a tin can

now it bakes and hardens like an old

dream under the front porch

where the air is talcum

mamma's eyes are blue

and father took the weird beast

we're walking next to you

that is the picture that i see