A few deft strokes and you know
whether the muse is with you
or not, whether the paper will take on life
or merely be an exercise in dexterity and skill.
This is where you come to pray,
not in words and litany,
but in a simple opening of your heart
to that which is beyond your understanding,
and certainly beyond your control.
And so you return, day after day,
setting out the paint. The water. the paper,
your private ritual, preparation
for a God beyond you, your genius
not in the work,
but the surrender.