EN PLEIN AIR ULTRAMARINE

As the morning sun bathes the silver shore,
Cleansing the rocks and cockleshells of night,
You see him picking his way over more
Uncertain ground, finding the right height.

In transit he looks ridiculous, weighted
With paint box, easel, a red folding chair.
At rest, he gathers dignity – a freighted
Sea bird preferring its nest to the air.

All day, he will sit, anticipating,
Facing the west, mixing a happy sunset,
Ignoring his lunch on its napkin, waiting:
A pure tone of long ago indigo, a net

Of clouds cast across the moon’s coronet,
Perhaps the lonely anguish of a star.
From dawn, he’s poised to see what he will get,
Trawling light with his canvas collecting jar.

The fishing boats are docked.  You hear the squawks
Of gulls.  Far off, the painter closes his box.

Leslie Schultz (Northfield, Minnesota) has five collections of poetry; of these, Geranium Lake: Poems on Art and Art-Making (Kelsay Books), her most recent, will be out in late summer. Her poetry has appeared widely, in such journals as Poet Lore, Midwest Quarterly, Naugatuck River Review, North Dakota Quarterly, MockingHeart Review, and Blue Unicorn. She serves as a judge for the Maria W. Faust Sonnet Contest. In addition to poems, she publishes photographs, essays, and fiction; makes quilts and soups; and happily mucks about in a garden plagued by shade, rabbits, and walnut trees.