The Artist

Every morning, just as she’s waking up

She pulls out her brush to paint the sky

The moment fades before I ever see it

But she kisses me through the open window

To wake me with the knowledge

That I’ll catch her working again another day

Every day, just because she enjoys it

She paints the world in white light

She kisses my cheeks until spots appear

And winks off metal and mirrors

Flirting with keeping me warm

Despite a cold autumn breeze

Every evening, just before she sleeps

She spills golden light from her hair

And paints the sky orange, red, and purple

While I sit and watch her create another masterpiece

With my knees planted in the sand in prayer

She reaches across the ocean to paint me too

Every night, while she’s sleeping

I take out my paintbrush

And try to replicate her artwork

With a golden light in the ceiling

To reignite the world

But I always miss her warmth