Large turquoise skies
The colour of old urns
Turned into monolith slabs
Watching over those
Triangles in the snow
Unravelling into
Loose ends
The story unfolds
Canvas stretched to the bare bones
Of old boats
Now you are here
Reclining on a chair
Not a peeling orange chair
As I misunderstood
But peeling an orange
All but back there
In a bare room
High above
A small town in France
The story unfolds
Canvas stretched to the bare bones
Of cold ropes
Here, in this echoing hall
Full up with the sharing of
Accidental anecdotes
This Chatham sound
Some memories we carry with us
Some we throw, dead weights
Like divers to the bottom of the ocean
Pulling through the paint
At the knots and undercurrents
This pared down room
Skinned orange
Hung with so few pictures
A book on a settle to tell the rest
Tying it all together
While the paint drips
Unravelling knots
