of the living dead, while these furry pricklers hover
in place, a spiritual congregation of cacti standing in chorus
under an explosive starry sky.
They shriek their happy news
to the Heavens!
The birth of Boi-Nay's mate. The first woman
hunkering on the rock below.
Look, she is open
to the night's electric showers. She drinks,
drinks of the cactus outflow....
o
how Winfred
must have struggled to control
those bold wavery cliff lines, as well as that woman's upraised
arms and rotund shoulders. Three days of heavy rain
drove the humidity so high, the supple paint stayed damp: colors
streaked and ran. Multiple figures
of woman and cactus sentinels
kept ri ppling
and softening in outline, while the artist
bolstered them with primary
color source.
Winfred lost count of how many paint layers
it took to make the cactus
rinds becalmed,
no reprieve until the gush
of rain subsided. He never slept, ate or drank until the paint
dried, his vigilance needed every minute to guard
the painted shapes ... Skies cleared. He stalked into the light
to view his cactus bride.
