FLY
By George Franklin
For Michael Hafftka

Studio. Recognition scene.
Instant knowledge: this is the one
That I shall live with year after year
Until my work is done.

Black background. Upthrust primal red.
Two figures, soaring, fall.
“This painting’s about trust”, I said.
Then hung it on my wall.

Time stilled as space? A dead cliché.
The moving eye moves what it sees-
Long outstretched arms, a candid face
Almost transfixing me

And that small, rapt figure just below,
Receptive, formed like an earthen bowl;
Each needs, creates the other,
Separate, equal, whole.

Child and parent, parent and child,
Lover, beloved, friend and friend,
Sponsor within the heart’s vast space
The bonds that free and mend.

Years have passed since I first set
Your vortex on my still standing wall;
Far greater walls have fallen.
Time cannot recall

The sundering moment through which fell
Grave figures unequipped to fly
And tempts me to see differently
Your shapes that greet my eye.

But no. What act can uncreate
Your vivid trust vouchsafed to me
Now that I need it all the more
And can more deeply see?

Black background. Upthrust primal red
Still lights the heart’s interior sky
Against which, scorning gravity,
Two figures fall yet fly.

Fly ©1995 78"x62" Oil On Canvas