Gold Foil Poem by Mark Heathcote

Here amid the layers of golden autumn
the crisp and not-so-crisp leaves fall
them that are extra-large—them that are small
drop to form mulches for their absorption
in a nearby churchyard, this-reminds-me
of that patchwork portrait of Adele Bloch,
each - gold foil - each square pattern on-her-frock
Gustav Klimt made shimmer, here wintrier
As-if-she were transcended here from above
her hands still clutching some warmth about to
press home gold leaf hearts-into-honeydew.
tracery airbrush souls on a hairbrush
to the canvas edge while serenely
looking coy looks on in all naivety.