dream

Where is my picture?
You've taken it down.
In your gallery of artwork
it would be out of place.
But
it was a gift. . .

Back in my workshop, I
painstakingly
pick out the colours
to buy, the canvas, the oils. I
shut out the world--
the busyness, the things to do--to create
my gift to you.

You can't put it up.
People would laugh.

Like Dorian Gray, the picture has changed.
Someone has taken the arm;
the left socket
is empty, red, dripping.

But. . .

Besides,
you know you're just
an amateur.