You posed for words
that I would draw.
they clung to You.
You called me beautiful.
I chose the finest oval tip
from small glass jars
to paint You to my cloth.
I did not watch the daystar
take the seasons
and with them You.
the world went old around me.
I put away my
hues and umber.
and still the unframed canvas
turns its face against the air.
damp and thick with You.
it cannot dry.

10 mar 2000
M Madison