It takes a very long time to become young
True, all conceivable colors can appear,
still the baby blue we smother is far from sky.
The smudge of green lands vibrant on the canvas,
refuses to grow a perennial tree.
Our brushes know
there’s simply no short-cut to a still life of youth.
It takes a lot of time to stack layers of pink
to see sinewy arms, tightened calves and bodies
smooth in the dog days’ sun. Abundant grey
for wet hair, hues of brown for dirt on feet.
Then we need months, maybe years, to comprehend
the blue forest and the dwarf-like cliff by a yellow-green pond
so that the three bare-chested boys, while plunging off,
are simultaneously held by humid air. In the flash,
a dive at youth, they’re full and young no more.