For Mark Rothko

For Mark Rothko

I saw red that night                 red of cigarette end

red of loon’s eye

Not in the painting                 more felt than seen

You demanded this                 to own what I am

                                                what I bring

Not the brush stroke               or the shared object

                                                nothing outside

This moment, nothing            that should be or

                                                should not be

No critic’s words                    no byproduct of

someone’s notion

Only beauty and terror           in this moment

                                                of nothing to hold

Only the floating shape          this form, this color

                                                no net or railing

No docent sign                        making it all clear

                                                naked responsibility

For pouring life                      into the space between

                                                Your canvas, my eye.