Helene: Pilibosian: NO BOUNDARIES

I set Armenian miniatures

on a table before me,

their colors not muted by years,

their shapes worshipping centuries.

Their kneeling figures

spoke to my fears,

words they might have uttered

not always teaching by treading lightly.

The application of haloes

was faded in scope

but not in hues transfigured

by their original approach.

Reds and blues dominated

and conformed to the brush

as dark gold of haloes

drew the symbol of circles.

Their women, few, crossed my paths

as if some ancient memory

redrew them here

or took my consciousness back

to where I was searching

for their daily walk,

perhaps searching then and still

for a mother-figure.

Boundaries were blank

to this celebration,

this silent conversation

I had with the art of saints.

This poem has previously appeared in  Bibliophilus