she wore impatience
barely assembled…
jeans, sandals, t-shirt
brush swiped hair
there’d been years
for logos, labels
mirror glances
suntan afternoons
now urgency
set rhythms…
three friends gone…
distressing vacancies
she still had patience
with nostalgia…
yet sought primary colors
not pastels
she read books…poetry
in draughts…to inebriation…
paused…when honest people
wrestled with ideas
kept awake past midnight
to stay closing of the light
Bonnie Marshall
Photo Credit: botanizing-flanerie
Proem... 
I REALLY appreciate/like this poem, especially the “primary colours / not pastels.”
As I sincerely appreciate your comment.
Reading this I feel I am standing before a painting…the metaphors are surprisingly graphic…known but not realized until the painting is right in front of me.
You open up the experience, Jana. Thank you, dear poet friend.
I am one who stays the close of the night —–Chagall
All good, Chagall. )
beautiful, I too burn the candle past midnight. Amazing poetry.
Must be the quiet…slower pace.