she is the poem
i wanted to write
and the pen
i couldn’t find
in the dark of night
so i dipped a branch
in the water
reflecting the moon
and wrote who she is
up in the sky
for her eyes to see
“dear,
you are the
artists brow,
before a masterpiece,”
and i dipped again
“and a masterpiece
is admired by many,
loved by few,”
a cloud passed
and the words stood still
for one last sentence
“but i’d learn to paint
for you.”