Impasto Beautiful

After a decade of darkness

After a decade of darkness, we walk separately but together in a Japanese garden, holding hands, remembering the twilight we tipped our canoe on Lake Petit. Mariam broke stained-glass when she surfaced, slicked her black hair back, splashed lake shimmer in my face as we treaded water. We kissed in the shelter of the overturned canoe. She tasted dangerous, like childhood. Lifeguard’s whistle blared at lovers who dared to flout the rules, to claim laughter, with an adolescent flair. Our hands break apart, remembering the boat ride through the bayou of Caddo Lake. The rains came, drenching the moss draped off ancient cypress trees. That night in the cabin, primordial regression, Golgotha darkened her brown eyes. She nailed herself to so many trees. She cracked open the casual conversation: I’m making love to a shadow. That night, I slept in the eye of the storm. Sun shower in the Japanese garden, downpour of light on Mariam. I glimpse her jet-black hair cascading midnight down her back. An unrestrained pallet of memories and a painting knife of loneliness layer her impasto beautiful. Mariam kneels with her Nikon camera lens focused on droplets aching off a burgundy lace leaf maple. We borrow those diamonds dripping off lace as our tears. She stands. We rush to each other like a flash flood, a surge of images running hard through a dry riverbed. Embrace.