Near the End
Red starlit fabric drapes over the model
the artist tries his best
to capture in oil, on canvas,
small lit places on her skin;
light through the trees, outside the window
his sight is marginal;
he goes mostly from memory, instinct
and what he imagines is actually there
he stops for a moment, hard to breathe,
asks her to rest
she is bored
knows he is no master
will sit for him anyway,
he pays,
she has time
after a few minutes, he starts again
re sets her, pulls out a smaller brush
strains his eyes
swears this will be the last one...
until tomorrow.
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