[James Brancheau]

Landscapes

I don’t know how to do
your dimensions—the reach

of a tree as if for a hand,
the home touched real

on the horizon. I can’t generate
your wave, find the mood

of your ocean—the slash in
your stroke, your more

physical act of inspiration.
There’s no pretty line

in my wrist, my mountains
are faceless, birds are simple

and distant. I can’t fake
your night and day, feather

in the faintest light or stretch
your shadows beyond

the frame. I won’t dabble
in intangibles, or ripple

your fragile moon, pave
a bright path to the bend

of heaven or scatter the water
with the bones of reflection.

[Glenn Wright]

Hi, James—

Some beautiful language here. I must confess that I was unsure whether the N is a landscape painter telling his beloved that he cannot capture her in his painting, or a portraitist speaking to Nature admitting his inability to capture her nuances. The first reading makes more sense, and “your more /physical act of inspiration” would support a tangible object providing the inspiration, but the title, and his refusal to “scatter the water / with the bones of reflection,” seems to support the second reading.

Glenn

[Hilary Biehl]

I read it pretty straightforwardly as a painter who feels unable to capture the landscape adequately, but perhaps I am misreading it? I enjoyed the language, in any case.