I could not draw him

“Canvas 253”

June 5, 2011

[click to enlarge]

I could not draw him if I did not feel close to death.

And still he goes on singing.

I could not be him if he were less.

And so he goes on dreaming.

There was a waterfall that splashed on rocks

in the mountains near his home.

It was in a barren place beside the road,

where a giant had met his end.

So it was he guessed.

His father turned the wheel to stop.

The earth and sky confessed.

His mother knew the rest:

that all things be given, if they must exist.

Now, where once his heart had been,

a simple wish remains:

Dandelion, rock, feather.

And lo, the bird is on the wing.