This one I've just written in response to a recent painting by the artist on 'Boules de Neige'. You can see the picture on her blog at www.scrambolo.blogspot.com.

I suspect I've taken a rather sideways look at the picture. But who knows what's actually in an artist's mind, even less so than in a poet's?

Crimson Space

What's holding back the crimson space?
A shell of real, façade of fake?
An unreal girl half turns her face
and hears the sound her friend would make

if he were not himself a prop.
While gravity pretends to hold,
beyond the stage the endless drop
of nothing as the truth unfolds.

And that holds back the crimson space
that only artists could create.
The really empty world we'd face
is black as unimagined fate.

Roy