“The line does not end where the arm ends,
but where the thought leaves the line.”
Leopold Museum, Vienna
As the lapidarian eye placed a caress
above the stocking end line casting about
in the cascading thought for blue shiners,
fledged to reflect lacy signatures in those
imprints of yearn falling away from
skin folds of studious art endeavours,
where button breasts diamante their way
out across masquerading candle smoke,
posing out of love or money who cares –
for the confetti drop that springs the trap
on the shattering diamond light subsiding
in the river aching its way from wrists,
the window knows the feint in reappraisal
a side of palm to make good the merged lovers,
gemstones cut into each other so no edge
separates them from the jeweler’s intent.
Egon and Edith died of the Spanish Flu in the pandemic of 1918. Edith was six months pregnant, Egon died three days after her.
First published in The Wonder Book of Poetry, March 2015
‘The Leviathan’s Apprentice’ Strzelecki’s Lover Press 2015
Outlaw Poetry November 2018
A different Schiele to the norm. Portrait of Edith by Egon.