A Few Chorus Lines
She’d set up her mental easel
high on the beach where compliant sand
would give an inch or so in welcome
she’d wait for the light to come
in its mid-morning finest
I/We would sit beside her on a beached log
on its sea-tested buoyancy
the light is aways there, she said
I’m waiting for my eyes to adjust
I’m never ready for it, she’d admit
Sometimes whole families would pass
below us near the waves on hard-packed sand
like pavement glistening after a hard rain
when the light came back full
kids and dogs racing, arms and tails waving
walking the sea’s long porch
as on the very water
Later she’d spend hours in her studio
painting an eery stillness she brought back with her
a near-sound steady below the rush of beach wind
bird-call, children’s shout, wave rumble
Sometimes at night when she slept
we’d go to her studio and check the canvases
to see if they were moving, breathing
as you’d check on a sleeping child
the one on the easel glowed when we looked
as if we’d switched on a lamp
They’re never finished or unfinished, she’d say
waving at the standing ranks of canvases
they’re under-looked or overlooked
still happening; I’m just their original witness
they have as many lives as witnesses
The Dog Star 
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