Passage to the Real
At midday the swifts have no will,
to hold back that pale blue morning coolness that bursts from flower throats,
a Beauty an outpour that can’t glow less.

Passage to the Real, and then?

I will squeeze you in my arms, get my best, under a sky I ‘m drawing in a sharp edged manga aesthetic Beauty..
Poetry, now reduced. S.F.

SOPHIAFINE  abstract modern art