Reflection at sunset on the beach in Tel Aviv with my sister Netta after visiting an art gallery all day and doing five cartwheels in the sand
The canvas was mostly white, terrained with pale gray, a faint purple
billowing into view; then emerged a single claw, coal black curves
that faded into molten brown and hints of red, acrylic hues
layered thick and flaring, the texture tumulted like the surface of
the sea, now halved by sunglow, starflame
thundering over horizon and through waves,
black ripples ripping through the yellow band,
our sun an unwavering gaze
unavoidable from any perspective.
In the narrow hallway, the painting
was too large, there was
not enough space to step back,
to allow the image to clarify itself —
then the falcon erupts from the paint,
soaring, striking, turbulent, shaping
the lonely purple wind, its avian eye
suddenly staring back into mine.
