Isolation

 All day I draw [isolation]. It’s the blank square I surround with pastels. Malevich has nothing to do with it. He left long ago. Delivery is a Goya, but for his mask and earpiece. I could make still-lifes of the groceries in his box. Isolation has Streeton consolations. Cherry blossom, for example, is not going anywhere, for now. The girls watch their afternoon movie. Hopper, Renoir, one of those. Meanwhile the cat walks Pollocks all over the property. Then sleeps in a Giotto-perfect circle. In our Rembrandt nights, wine’s the one daub of red pouring from the bottle. Kusama dreams.