SUNDAY SONG

And on the seventh day, though the sun is shining, unspoken words echo as you fade to white with a promise of oblivion, slow dancing their never-ending final vow to the same sad jazz lullaby: a requiem for what could not be and never was, its trickery scars now sunbleached, yet still burning deep.

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Inspired by Chet Baker’s Almost Blue, and by something I wrote a long time ago after looking at a painting, The Sleep of Trees (2000) by F. Scott Hess.

Apparently, even the artist himself felt like his paintings were windows into stories:

“When the Orange County Museum of Art showed my Hours of the Day series in 2000, I was asked by Director Naomi Vine to explain each painting for the catalogue. I refused, but told her I would write fiction instead.” -- F. Scott Hess