The painting,

Dimly lit by moonlight,

Rests uneasily on the floor

Where he crouches to examine

Its brash swirling colors

Mixing,

If not in complete harmony,

Then in anticipation of some unifying melody

Yet unheard.

Captivated by the picture’s unruly play

He runs his fingers across its jagged surface

Sculpted from rough brushstrokes and

The artist’s own fingertips.

“It’s lovely,” he murmurs.

“It’s something,” she replies,

Her lips brushing his neck.

“Initial inspiration,”

She muses

“Can be invigorating

Even when

Its destination

Is a dead end.”

Originally published in Helix Magazine

Image: Tirol by Franz Marc (detail)