Beginning to Paint

Can I erase on my face, these tears?
Can I use a brush to flush out September?
Raise the moon high above the mesa
Now nothing more than a vermilion mist
Shaded in by the side of my thumb.

Can I draw a green plant in a red ***?
In the morning, when morning creeps
In through the window which looks
Out upon the young day with a long sigh
While I slowly sip my coffee.

Can I sketch a cloud into the empty afternoon
And make it into a memory? Can it be
Raining over the mountains while the wrens
Dart from juniper to juniper like
Conversation smothered?

Can I trace in your face, those cheeks?
Draw your firm lips into a red rose
And your eyes, such an emerald thought
Can I push them in to become black
And stay there?