• Marcel Wormsley

A tuft of brisk air…

A tuft of brisk air...

A tuft of brisk air, Unglued and pressed In every direction; Kneaded across this lonely slate With naive paws Given to groping about These dampened walls With nary a method or skill. And lo, the guards have taken post, And have presided over forms That seldom change But resist transfixion. Breathe with silent flames And this slate comes alive, And becomes your home again.

Art: “Mater Bedroom” Andrew Wyeth

#art #AmericanArt #AmericanRealism #Realism #Artwork #poetry #poem #Artist #Poet #AndrewWyeth

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