“Please, oh please don’t move”
I whisper under my breath
I don’t want to forget this moment
Drawing the sketchbook from under my arm
With quick strokes I capture the scene
A rough sketch
Just enough to remember it later
My subject, unaware, stirs
The moment is gone
But I will carry it with me
The sketchbook a weight on my heart
Until I return to my room and behind closed door
With furious strokes bring to life on the page
The moment that I witnessed before
Pouring self into art
Until at last I am empty and the burden is lifted
Always the artist, never the subject
Capturing these visions
That come so few and far between
Until now
It seems that I can’t keep up with them
One piling on top of another
As I frantically scribble, trying not to miss a single one
Never have these solitary wanderers
Come in such numbers
They seem to be drawn to you
And when at last I have etched
These precious moments into immortality
I cannot help but bring my work to you
An artist showing his subject his art
Not expecting to see you reach behind your back
And bring forth a sketchbook of your own