I live in a lithograph

I live in a lithograph

called olympia

colored by gobs of ink

named wet anything.

it’s dark most of the time

pressed against the lines

but oh when the lid lifts

and that light gets in.

“GIANT RAINBOW” I shouted

to dawn and robin

reading around the corner

on the living room couch.

I repeated myself

but when they’d come in

and I’d lifted robin up

so high his toes touched

the kitchen table

it was great so great!

that window was the plate

though but not the print.

that view was the mundane

part of the machine

that gets wiped down

without a glance

not the cocksure art

that’ll be bred and framed.

sure enough when I left

and returned to look

my gift horse in the mouth

with my camera

I had to settle for

rotten teeth-type scenery

a fading quarter of a rainbow

that I vainly fed my meter

but only because time

will keep ticking for me

through that medium

this one and also another.

in the foreground the buds

of one of our baby

magnolia trees slip off

their gray cauls violetly.