Lily Yanagimoto

Paul

Asked to articulate the purpose of the work, I could not do it
completely. Without meaning, I catalogued images: a chafing birch,
a statue’s beveled lip. Lamplight screwing your oily eye.
Asked to make pointless equivalences, I acquiesced.
Your blue notched mouth. Silver fish on the bank. Window
half-open at night. Everything I have painted is not everything
I have seen. It is not even everything I know.
You laughed, there was blood in your face. The window
never opened to that type of sky. All my life
I lived in the city, I never saw animals.