Wednesday, June 20, 2012

James Cervantes

Gauzy curtains closed against the panes. In front of them, drawn halfway,
opaque curtains with a tint of color, a pale rose, then heavy drapery,
purple, opened so there are  just two heavy panels framing it all.

In front of the three layers, a sofa that obscures the bottom four inches 
of window. Five feet in front of the sofa and at right angles to it, 
are a table and small couch. Facing them and the mostly obscured

window is an amply upholstered wing chair to sit in and wait
until it is time for the lamps to be lit, or to leave, perhaps forever,
or to return with four or five friends who chatter away, changing everything.

This would be titled "Still Life And A Consciousness."


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