How do you build a painting with only sixty minutes to live between five and six in the evening on a seven square-foot grid—
she’s dug a fishpond in a courtyard fissured it in time stocked it with cold-blooded koi dressed in calico and banana yellow
some seem dredged in flour as if they might be battered. They dart and swim among the water lilies then tip their scales and slip
under as if cold war spies. Leaves past their prime have fallen and float upon the placid surface like Matisse cutouts that have died.
So much happens in a single hour and so little—you stare at the appearance of depth and think of the fish, the ticking clock, where the weeping light goes
and realize that you could just walk away just take something and walk—
Sharon Tracey is a poet, editor, and author of the poetry collection, What I Remember Most Is Everything (ALL CAPS PUBLISHING, 2017). Her poems have appeared in Mom Egg Review, Tule Review, Common Ground Review, Light: A Journal of Photography and Poetry, Forth, Canary, Naugatuck River Review, Ekphrasis, and elsewhere. She lives in western Massachusetts. For more, please see www.sharontracey.com.