You saturate the canvas, turn it upside down, scrape the color off, turn it again,
as if changing the view might change the circumstance.

You fight a small sickness and dream of painting a fish in a true blue ocean where you find
an animal with eyes so olive and loving, every discrepancy becomes congruent.

The truth is that everything is abstract space making one thing whole.
The human eye, for instance, when magnified

is merely a collection of space and shape
while some call it the port hole to the soul.

~~~

I painted eggs floating in a dark space, but really moons in a beckoning orbit.
I painted them moons, not embryos.

Under these stars and layers of light,
this sky must grant permission to your heart's deepest letter

of what you haven't given away
but want to,

of what you can no longer keep
but must.

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