An Artist's Abstract

When night crawls into moon-lit lines across old golden oak floorboards that follow the grain of dreams,
And love writes words in whispers only the soul can hear
--letters of the alphabet written without logic or reason
forming patterns
like smoke-rings across the memories of trees in the catskills--
chaos long gone in the shadow of legends.
When autumn leaves paint houses and streets with VanGogh's madness,
this is the time
one's heart can hear the sound of rain as it falls across a symphony yet unborn;
an artist's abstract.