Bonnard

Bonnard Windows

The opened window lets on about clouds

Swelling up like the tree clouds below them

These evanescent leaves existing on light

These miniscule colours upon colour undiminished

These sunlight shifts where grey become blue hills,

Neighbours’ houses never more opaque than today

Their windows looking in on a story all their own.

Then, when cold, closed again against snow-like air

Window where birds wing past as dabs of Prussian

And the cat that seemed but a breeze of brushstrokes

Later walks through the door and sits on my lap.

I could write to you for days in isolation

About these Bonnard effects on the cerebellum

The optic nerve hardwired for every glow and shade

Email my findings on atmospheric water

Text over my word limit a plurality of palette

Message you the face that carries a weight on its shoulders

Effects that motion through shut window to garden

Table inside laid out with the usual favourites

A book turned face down where it inspired some thoughts

Which is pleasant enough except you’re not here

Where the shape and colour and light are real.