I put my head down and

pretend to work

staring at a white

            Empty

            Frozen

            Waiting

sheet of canvas

Sharp, eager tips

sprout from the home of a

            small tin cup

Inviting

I pick up green

spring blossoms

baby grass

myths of the tropical ocean

fingers of a waving palm

All distilled

lyophilized

morphed 

            into a stick of green

I see red

the kind that

bursts in the summer heat

and gets confused

            in the lovers' eyes

hiding

            in the deepest dreams

            of an adventurer

If only I could

color the sky transparent

unfold the creases of a tired moon

cool the sun with watercolors

If only I could

paint the music notes in tune

dye a saddened blind eye rainbow

bring a glowing hue to the lonely mind

If only I could

tinge a faded couch

fill the empty ceilings with pastels

imbue a dying ember

If only I could

shade the meadowlark’s song

           with a dreary blue,

The world would be  

            my canvas.