The Artist

He seemed to be made up of

bits of paper and color and cloth

arranged in a constellation...

more a soul than a man.

He ran my palm along his cheek,
the heat almost startling me –

a tactile proof of his existence,

a
    pause
               in space and time.

He left a trail of lights behind him,

a goodbye hanging in the air.

His laughter echoes in my ears,

a song, a poem, a punctuation,

a masterpiece of night.