Before Columbus? ( for Carol, my love )

Like the bird that rocks to and fro
Beak getting wet with each cycle
She touches the brush gently into her sea
Of pigments spread out in a row

Her torso now upright, brush held afar
She starts out to feather a stroke
As she enters the door to her world in waiting
She finds it only ajar

A peek with the bristles uncovers the key
For the crack in the door to be widened
So she turns to the left of this world in waiting
With the poise and assurance of mastery

As she touches again with confidence
Her sea with it’s liquid still
Her wrist spins in circles and gathers momentum
To challenge this guess of assurance

The world to her right, now ready to submit,
Stands hovered on its axis of wood
Awaiting the touch from the sea below;
This galaxy of colors in orbit

As she moves to the ready to do just that
She freezes in a moment of pleasure
Looking out at the sea on the tip of her brush
Comes the wonder of a world that’s flat