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.