Sonnet for Markus
Drifting through the gallery on a
grey Toronto afternoon, a bit
aimless but drawn forward painting
after painting, the Rothko
jumps off the wall in the otherwise
peaceful space and pummels me.
There’s nothing there
but colour, blurred edges,
a corona, luminous and glowing
So don’t tell me what he did
is not holy, is not woman, is not
grace, is not the nearness of death in
the night, the glory of generous day,
opening, and radiant.
William Ross is a Canadian writer and visual artist living in Toronto. His poems have appeared in Rattle, The New Quarterly, Humana Obscura, New Note Poetry, Cathexis Northwest Press, Topical Poetry, Heavy Feather Review,*82 Review, and Alluvium. Recent work is forthcoming in Bindweed Magazine and Anti-Heroin Chic.
Amethyst Review 