The Painter


I am a stream
without its comforting gurgle
but can still make you lose your way
as you wander on my banks
and draw your aimlessness on my clear face
with a bare toe

There are drowned clouds in my depths
and they caress your spirit
as it merges into me
the pull strong on either side

and soon you follow
I am blue somedays when the sky
prevails over me
green when my banks fight over me
but neither can stain me enough

To paint me
you get off the train
and follow the goat as it skips to the beats of its thirst
and throw your brush away

Knees on the grass
hands scooping me up
shards of a broken sun glinting in your palms,
you drink and drown
then drown and drink
till I flow red within your veins
and you hear my soft gurgle
somewhere quite near



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