The Painting
How long was she watching me?
I saw the brush dab furiously
And thought of her infinite subject with awe, touching envy.
What possible colours could her palette hold
Able to catch the wet, breathing coast,
The sky and sea fused as perfectly as they were? What stroke
Could ever hope to bring the waves
Licking and foaming to canvas?
Amazed, eyes glazed by the wind
I looked again at her staring. Was she sharing
The thoughts that I had, with me?
She smiled. She motioned. I went forth, and frozen
Saw a painting of me watching her watching.
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