The Painting
The painting on the wall
parallel to my eyes is
a place where I visit everyday.
The longer I look at it,
the closer I am to being there.
I can see the motion of
the waterfall cascading
down the rocky cliff,
I can feel the water splashing
against my skin after
it rebounds from the bottom,
and I can smell the petrichor
that fills the air.
I can hear the music in
the spirit of the painter.
I can see her fingers
dancing across the canvas.
I can see inside her
meticulous mind.
I can feel her love and joy
and sense her intimacy with nature.
I can see her soul anointed
by the scepter of the divine.
I can hear my heart beating
the same as hers,
my blood flowing
through her veins,
my mind inside her mind,
and her sensitivity
taking root in my heart.
I can see me painting the picture
feeling the same way she does,
and I can see me
inside the painting.
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