art

by Philip Berry

I do not regret – 

The slashes into soft clay

Arcs of pigment, one fading

Into the next, a glorious pool

Of nations thickening 

In dusty corners. 

The time it took to alter marble

Forms, precision violence

Over and over again. 

The triangles of canvas

Flapping into the vacuum

Of my heat.

A codex of passionate

Correctives to your blind

ambition, blind to a muse’s

deeper purpose.

To travel with you

Until dark.

Philip Berry’s poetry and short fiction have appeared in Black Bough, Poetry Birmingham, The Healing Muse, Deracine and Dream Noir. He also writes fiction and CNF. His work can be explored at www.philberrycreative.wordpress.com and @philaberry.