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Eyes for the Horizon

            for Greg Favors, the painter

Brown felt hat

worn forever

at the end of the pier


from way off

his eyes bob

down/up inhaling


the sky’s breathy haze

a rumple of hills

the jagged back of the city


white blast of the bay’s

lightning ripples

under sun’s fierce glaze


all blur

when he takes his glasses

off to feel the view


brush stuck in his hand

palette on the bench beside him

he looks down exhaling through


the bristled tip dabbling deep blue

flash of the metal band

that wraps its long shaft


dips into a plastic cup

flicks a drop

dancing on the edge of his paint pot


tickling pigment

sweeping shapes into flat space

colors he can breathe.



Alameda Bird Reserve