a canvas—
a watery canvas of smeared, flushed fuchsia.

a canvas
that penetrates the delicate strings beneath my bones,
pulling, tugging, reminiscing,
reminding.

reminding me of a greater world that conceals itself behind the
canvas of muted yellows and swirly tangerines.

a canvas—
one that harmonizes with the peaceful melody of the waters beneath it,
that melts into itself,
that drips with pink tears of contentment,
whispers words of comfort,
embraces my vulnerability, and mends my faults, and guards me from the bows and arrows of the earth.

the earth, the canvas’ mother, is
the backdrop to the canvas that blinds my conceit and brightens my selflessness.
a canvas, my earth.
a canvas.