What can I say? The person who inspires me and supports me most in my creativity. He writes poetry and plays and brews his own beer. I'm constantly amazed at how his mind works. The following is one of Patrick's poems. To see more, visit www.patrickkanouse.com.
Portrait of a Woman Brushing Her Hair
Florence, June 30
copyright Patrick Kanouse
(to inquire about use, visit www.patrickkanouse.com)
You brush your wet hair in the breeze
Of an early evening light,
Backlit by a single, hanging bulb.
Your face shows a quiet pleasure
At the bristles running through
Your hair like today’s latest cure.
You ask me to brush it for you.
Your hair smells of aloe and ginseng,
Which I let slide through my fingers.
Your eyes close; I turn off the light.
In the mirror the curtain reflects
Back to us our room; a fang
Of light from the alley twists
Through the lace curtain and echoes
On the wall; a maze of light
I tire of tracing. My fists
Holding shadows, I wait for sleep.
Outside a truck receives commands
In Italian:“Lentamente!
Fermate!”I hear espresso
Machines and the clapping of hands.
The Italian night has just begun.
Earlier we shared gelato:
Melon, colored like cantaloupes.
I hear laughing and distant cars.
From the thin alley beneath
Our window, lined with bicycles,
Garlic and basil mingle
With the light on the breeze. The sheath
Of caffé swells and reorders
The priority of senses.
I fall asleep to foreign tunes
With strands of your hair in my hands. In Italian:“Lentamente!
