The wayward paint and wilful sable brush
find me, unable, undeft, laborious,
not the ideal painter of a fable -
'A naked woman sitting about a garden
with a unicorn eating the roses.'
Inching, dragging, dabbing, staring,
caring and correcting, and revising
these poses of derivative devising -
how many yestermorns must there have been
since someone painted the first of unicorns.
As I go, so slow, Sophie and her companion
sit and seem to know
how they should look and be; they see,
their perfect likeness; waiting
'till they feel they are acquainted
with what it is I've painted.
Patient, the delicate beast, waits for his floral feast
rises above his Daler Rowney Acrylic
already musing on something - more idyllic
than the daubs and drips of green
surrounding him, knowing what he has seen.
And Sophie, unabashed, waits to be dressed
in perfect nakedness.
Her destiny and destination
closer by each brushstroke's intimation,
strives to catch her breath, its inspiration.