IMPROVISATION#86
(In memory of Mark Rothko
1903-1970)

It is cold outside
but flames flicker
in the wood stove
and suddenly
from these ashes
we remember the names
of those who fought
the totalitarian nights
of shame
we open the blinds
and snag the same curtain
to those hands
which guided us
to our freedom
they have not disappeared
from the days
we feared
would never end
in shadows of a dark time
marked by images
of crimes against life
they remain
as a good lofty witness
from Dachau to the Gulag,
blessing the ordinary
and the extraordinary
when the spring trees
we discover are reborn
with a sun out in the valley
from his Houston sanctuary
of his neighborhood
by a soft bed of zinnias,
dahlias and gentians
from orange and red flowers
and when finally under covers
of what is sight read
we realize how love is taught
from a lunge at generations
and always largely wrought
what saves us
we recognize against power
as once galley slaves
sought to survive the nations
with a faithful shield
from high principalities,
here we are today
in the museum
at this art gallery
to visit a poet like Rothko
who continually
draws us into day dream
at his abstract color field.