The Artist

I think I’m painting myself
Mixing colours in your hands
Blindly searching for the yellow, for the orange
For that which must matter
For that…

I know you can still see the brush-strokes on my skin
I’ll be better, I will
In time
When my left hand won’t be as clumsy anymore
With black paint
When I learn to hide the shadows
Into light

When water will stop flowing across my canvas,
I’ll be able to see
you
watching me

With a paint-brush in your hands

Scenery

The lake is dark tonight, o’er the treetops it floats again
Silently
Gathering the strange glittering from above its surface
Frenetically so, like there is no tomorrow, since there was no yesterday.
The lake is flat tonight, stretching for air, a shallow layer
Of water-dew
A fishing-net, an anchor for the stars and I.

It’s drawing circles above my head
The dark lake-water of tonight,
Metallic in its appearance,
cutting
Oh, God!-

-Through the treetops,
Silently.