Memorials. (After listening to Madama Butterfly on the radio).

                    1.

My paintings are the poems
I cannot write,
Songs without words
Preserved in stillness.
Likewise the photos,
Static portraits of far off times
Silent
Silent
Ice cold                           silent.
Memorial stones bereft of flowers.

                    2.

Your signature
                              In my pocket book
Is dated 1967.
A vivacious moment in a too short life
Preserved forever on a yellowing page.
None of the photos that hang on the wall
                                              Are vivid
As this singular word
Shaped to the rhythms
That danced in your voice.

                  3. 

My paintings are the poems
I cannot write,
Butterfly carcasses
Pinned behind glass.
They shadow the stories I cannot speak,
The sorrow      too deep      for language. 


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
March 4th. - 5th. 2018.