When It Dries

WHEN IT DRIES
April 19, 2006

Paint on my fingers,
up my nails,
down my shirt.
Some paint in the sky,
on the fence,
my first try.

Paint on my hands ,
in my hair,
on my pants, my chair.
Some paint on the wings
of a bird on a branch
as it clings.
Paint on the floor,
on my face,
on the door, my case.
Some paint on the dock,
in the grooves
on the dun’s running hock.

Paint on my shoulders,
some on the boulders.
Paint on my brow,
some on the ship’s prow.

And, miraculously,
when it finally dries,
sometimes I have myself
a real painting.