Painting

In the day when I paint

I slip a brush in my pocket

And carry the easel

to a side street

And there from tubes of blues

I make costly mistakes

of more than hue

when we last did meet.

And the painting goes on

till all is wrong

And the subject in mind

passes from view

Because every time

I find the painted lines

Do no more than remind

me of you.

And when light is gone

I carry the easel home

to barren studio

two flights up

And there begin

as I always intend

to create within frame

a world again.

It’s after midnight

when I give up my fight

To bring re-creation

within these walls

And in the cold electric

light

I regain my sight

And see I’ve

been,

painting you again.