In the studio of a painter

The same face is on all his canvases.

the same image, sitting or walking or leaning against the window.

We find her hidden behind these curtains.

The mirror reflects how lovable she is.

Sometimes she is the queen, all bejeweled and glittering.

sometimes a nameless girl among green branches and leaves.

or a saint or an angel - but each portrait

But each portrait has the same meaning, neither adding nor subtracting.

The painter feasted on her beauty day and night, and she looked back to him, sincere and uncompromising.

She looks back to the painter, sincere and warm.

as bright as the moon and as joyful as the sun.

She does not pine and withers in waiting and grieving.

Not like her, but like the moment when hope shines.

Not like her, but like her entering his dream.