Two Poems by Ruth Stacey

  Bullet Claude Debussy wants to tell me something. He smiles; I paint his music and his dreams are now visible. Musical notes as paint. Symphonic sketches. The last note is D♭. The people who dwell there enter the scene, they wander idly from group to group. Stifle my thoughts. The air is in the lowest octave. A stately queen, wearing brown, sings about bells … Continue reading Two Poems by Ruth Stacey