By Fabrice B. Poussin
Paints say little about the model in her soul
Arabesques flourish in the gentle trace of her curves
As she paints the first letter to another sister.
She cares little for frozen moments on a camera plane
Continually altering the vision of her moving figure
Dancing on the page, marking parchment with her life.
All the thoughts she exhales are in shiny China ink
Reflecting on the walls of days only she may define
One line borne of the mist of a precious dawn.
Her story floats within the hours since all beginnings
Puerile as it was on the birth of a fresh galaxy
Syllables beat steadily at the rhythm of her passion.
She is flesh yet only for a moment given to all her kin
Illusion to the one who can only see proof of her being
A body surged from the perfection of fashion magazines.
Never will she cease to be to the dreamer seeking a muse
For she belongs to the words speaking the treasures she is
Endlessly even in the darkness of infinite oblivion.
She is, and continues in this essential journey alone
Gentle to the air ethereal realm her accomplice
For all times printed onto the memory of the universe.
Fabrice Poussin teaches French and English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and many other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River Review, and other publications.