an amateur artist 
works alone
in a window

white canvas
illuminates
the eye
desiring beauty

color wets the thirst
in carefully
constructed images

white
boundaries separate
colors alone

bountiful blues

raging
reds

gesturing greens

plebian 
purples

yammering yellows
yet

displeased, irked
by stifled images
the painter sleeps

a gentle rain blows
a voice whispers
truth about color
which awakens
conception that

beauty arrives
with blending
one with another

the artist awakes 
to find an exquisite
wash of the singleness
into a canvas a multicolored
images

surprisingly 
towards the bottom 
a stream runs into 
a pithy puddle of 
muck

the painter
ponders...some colors
melt into mixes 
that are loathsome

shadows present
not light, yet
significant

even
the prosaic
have purpose

beauty can be
made of things
not intended