At the Art Café, Tzfat

At the Art Café, Tzfat

Last night I ate inside

a painting. 

The north light had long since

fled, fearful of the glare from

Klezmer’s flashy riot.

But the deft strokes of

the sinking sun inked in the

infant lights of the rising moon,

so spreading a silken sheen across  

stack on stack of blueberry hills,

whose sweet and  dainty tops when

viewed in fine relief offered a

glimpse of Heaven.

Fabulous – or not – arched cascades

of strident colour with their brazen music

twirled triumphant torrents in mid-air.

Their dance seemed somehow magic.

But in the bid to win a race to I knew

not where, they hurtled heedless,

 headlong back to earth and on

exploding lost their unworldly fire.

The scent of mint and lemon fading,

it was time to go. Now the canvas 

shrivelled and in one furtive backward 

glance became a furled, forlorn thing, 

kicked to shreds by gluttonous crowds.

© Natalie Wood (22 August 2015)