Creative Corner #1

A little poem for the day, or night as it now is:

Sit for me

Sit for me, though I cannot paint,
For I see the ancient marks
Of boundary lines in your face,
The sweetness and pollution
Of a sky-blue haze in your eyes,
The soft fall and rapid rise
Of a ship’s wake in your chest.
I have seen all of my country,
This surfeit place, in your body.
So sit for me, and let me paint.