George

You must have known George, even from that first brushstroke -
that premier splattering of pixels -
that perfection would be the end of you

that so much splendor could do you in
send you back to the chaos
again and again

that you would be granted one sigh only - of satisfaction
one divine sigh
breathless and full
one gratified chill

a single gasp to revel in - and then back to the chaos

to the drudgery of reinvention
back to the fire that first called forth the will to labor.

and what kind of ungrateful God would deny you George
that lingering moment of revelry?

or a lifetime -
after such toil and passion

after the light so lovingly placed  - dot by dot
the blue/gray haze spread soft and still
blanketing that perfect Sunday - that resplendent afternoon

the world as it should have been, George
had the creator had such a vision as yours

back to the chaos
to the ladies - with their parasoles
again and again

not for lack of thanks George
you've struck the world with awe
but it's back again


to the muck and confusion
to that splattering of pixels
imploring you
ceaslessly -  to give them life
over and over again

after all - it's what you do George
and surely you know -
it's not about the painting

but the painter.