More Than Beauty

—Dennis Richardson

The side of the home next door juts out just a little,
sets the perspective, the composition as grand
as any Edward Hopper image.

Liquidambars, planted in nineteen forty-six, stand
like columns down the sides of the street, bare branched
now, their long threaded rise, four stories high.

Yards of the homes on the cross street face me.
As I look out my window, its frame
becomes the frame of the canvas I see.

Sometimes, nothing is moving, not a leaf or a bird,
just the trees, bare and green, silent streets, older
homes, a background of sky showing through.
 
Time has stopped, as it does in a painting.
It seems as though what I’m looking at
is in the past as well as the present. 

What is it that so captures the eye,
holds it there for more than a moment,
makes the heart smile or want to cry.

One thought on “More Than Beauty

  1. I can certainly relate to this. I too have seen my window frame as the frame of a painting and looked throughtfully beyond it. 🙂

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