Summoning

I drew an apple to summon my eve.

water. color. splash. blend. stroke.

each drop of flavor brought her closer to the tip of my brush

until among the leaves and fruit her skin began to leak.

a fingertip, a nail, then knuckle, a ghost’s hand materializing

shadow by shadow and line by line

each tiny bone, each vein, each pore

mahogany skin petal soft, stretched

from fine brush hairs through mist, onto vellum

toward wrist scarcely structured

but already starting to turn toward my apple offering

and then back, blind prints scouring the texture

for a hint of the author. she is looking for me

me stunned, in awe, unable to look away.

her fingers caress the page, rub and purr against moist brush

tenderly she climbs to handle, to hand

relieves me of my artist’s eye and in a flash has formed herself

face. cheeks. sockets. eyes.

pushing through the film of paper

like a dream rising through silk and water.

I watch her lips appear

tiny leaves that swell and fill then smile.

she blinks long and slows her dark eyes heavy with dew.

echoes and traces of shoulders and ribs swirl into form and substance.

I reach out to touch her and she drinks me in

my hands disappear into her billowing dress. eyes wide, agape; I cannot speak.

with my brush she paints a cocoon around my back, my head, my throat,

and I fall silent, paralyzed, slow and thick

into pools of pigment, powder, and oil.

my muscle lines are pen and ink,

my teeth and gums pearl white, antique ivory cut with magenta, sienna, crimson hues.

water. color. splash. blend. stroke.

I fade into two dimensions, a stain on parchment in the shape of a girl

packaged up and sent away by post from me to you.