Breathing life onto a cold clear surface
is what God can do, I think.
Mixing a swirling crescendo
of silhouettes upon a backdrop
of cars, streets, trees, people.

Exhale quickly, and draw quicker
life disappears before you finish
into the quagmire, the muck of the bend
temporary distraction for a transitory
exit.

Inhale quietly, don’t steal the heat
perspiration , steam, and fog
cover up each picture like
time-worn scabs,

but when the fog fades
the imprints stare back at you
a lumpy mesh of creation
without soul, without release
stuck in the drawing board.