Ekphrasis

By Guest Writer Yan Zhang

splotches of light stitched thickly
by
the sun
—the palette of greens
they are a thick mush of impasto
when applied directly
even the gentle rain cannot nestle its way in

up ahead, those silver droplets
get swallowed
by the crystalline body
of a turbid soup that hums
occasioning a sigh or two

overhead blurs
grey
black & white unlike the rain
that falls & dissolves
birds weave through
the shapes & blocks they flutter
their wings they splatter
the paint all over

the paint flickers in pale-greens
they’re tilting their chins upwards
their limbs outstretched
flinging & clawing

drops of water fall
they creep & smudge
slowly at first
they cannot stay for long
so they let go
glide down the edge
where they join

what’s left
& the paint flickers.