The Painting

Today there are waves of you
in and out, like love
our friendship in the shape of a rose.

I am unsure of how to keep you close--
how to love you, not in black and white
but in pastels...

A watercolor that is of a still pond,
an impressionistic painting--
waterlilies perhaps

or flowers that have no names.

No matter the image, there is surely light...
white and penetrating;
your love for me,

delicate and hopeful.

For now not even a whisper...

Just a friendship fragile as silk.

And there is beauty in that, my dear friend.
There is beauty in not knowing what the painting says.