On a sonless afternoon
electronic doors open in welcome
at the Art Gallery.
I stroll past frames,
criss-cross each room.
My dead sister, like a guardian angel, is here.
This gallery a favourite haunt of hers and mine.
Dual cloaks of exhilaration and sadness enwrap me
as I stand before huge works.
Gill’s early paintings of Adelaide
draw me, as they did her.
scenes suck in light.
You and I, our eyes focused
on their glories.
You and I