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Sunday, November 29, 2009

On Painting a Wet Mallard

You stared at me, a spectator of your beauty.
Against the current you posed for me,
So I clicked my camera quickly
While your mate lingered on patiently.

In my bedroom, you stared just the same,
So I grabbed my brush and took great pains
To recreate you each night
With that light in your eyes.

Now that you're on canvas,
It's my turn to stare and watch,
Imagining your wetness in its absence
Wondering how much pain it takes
To recreate you to exactness.

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