Waiting for Sight

It is mostly finished, the painting.
Reds and golds and curves and memories.
finished enough that even if you were to stop
no one but you would know the difference.

But still. Every painting has a story,
one that changes with each brush stroke
and so as you near the end, you become cautious,
not wanting to ruin something so near to perfect.

And so there are a few days of light and watching.
Imagining this change or that, imagining so strongly
that you can see what is not there, but might be.
Waiting for the sight to finish. or at least

knowing when to finish,
and when to begin again.

About this poem

A lot of poems have emerged unplanned for this past week, and this is one. It began as a comment on still life, in art and life, and became something different. Life is like that, you start at “A” expecting to move to “B” and end up at “R”. So the poem is about art. And about life. Poetry is never about one thing.

Happily living at “R”.

Tom

PS: The painting is one of mine. Called “The Red Dress”, it is one of very few of my paintings that is not for sale.