Vespers at the Balcony Bar

We meet at The Museum to wander
among gardens of the mind.
Art smiles from jasper lips,
offers us marble bouquets.
Artists energy made visible in color,
brushstrokes, the weave of tapestries,
shadow and reflections become
substance. Portrait, table, cloth, fruit,
landscape — dissolve into air,
and we become a living painting.

Wine makes memories flicker
recalling friends who meandered,
intoxicated, through these vast galleries,
and have since departed.
Join us, my ghosts,
at the Balcony Bar, on a Saturday
night, when snow has begun to fall.
We toast you shades, not for the last time,
then walk home
on a darkened, emptying street.