On Viewing McNamara's "Morning Light" at the Arkansas Arts Center

I will wait

for a brittle winter's day,
powerlines
with clear ice
porcelainized,
lapels turned up,
hats pulled down,

scarfs snapping with the wind,
and then,
upon seeing
the first flake of snow fall,

I will visit her again.

I will disrobe,

crawl into the painting,
and lay myself at her feet.


(SKJ, 1985 or so)