A brush in his hand, cans of
Paint open and spread out on a rickety desk.
Perhaps today he will bring to life a flock of birds.
Yellow and blue, with bright red plumage on their heads,
Bright blue eyes that shine like gemstones
In the crimson feathers.
Readying himself, he takes a breath and
Touches brush to canvas, leaving a dark streak.
He dips the brush in the paint, smiling to himself as the
Details emerge-head, eyes, wings, beak
And feathers in a myriad of colors:
Yellows, blues
Emerald greens, each stroke of the brush
Making a whispering sound as he does what he
Loves, and will keep doing
Year after year,
Never-ending.