Cally

Eyes as deep as the estuary, her work sets the tone, even if she feels free, what separates her growing fame, ripped canvas proves, painting's like a childhood game, surrounded by the easy sea, she feels the pull of Domes, peace another entity, Our Lady sees her pain, in yellow nights of moans, even if she looks the same, a bravura of scurried frieze, maps, the bottle, men's groans, she's away from that disease, doubtful of any sanctity, she has what she holds, that temperance is a fantasy, hiding amongst bones.