still-life sonata

[heartichoke]

from the first stroke
of mojave red paint,
I declared my belief, my blossoming
wonder in Your beingness, in us. At first
I slovenly blended my colors; unsteady was my hand
as it scratched out a place for our passion on the cardboard
canvas. waiting for an affirmation, I looked to you and waited too
long; too short was my patience, too rough were my indulgences. too
little faith I had in our perfection, in my own artistry. And so You
took my cue, starting a theme of your own; playing in two
venues, painting a solitary portrait. Your stoic wizardry
cut deep, and I accompanied tastefully; driven by
renewed faith and perfected technique -
for my mistakes had taught me well.

but now I come to you
with open motives and pure canvas,
relinquishing all I had followed gratuitously,
weaving through cardboard wind-chimes, praying
for a celebration as we return to our desert and
stroke our first phrase
as one.