Somebody wanted to build me a studio.  With sunlight entering from three sides.  He wanted to see the things I spoke about come alive in the air – or at least on canvas.

But I spoke so sloppily.  The things I said were obvious.  Did you see the way that yellow flower looks up at the sky?

Show me, he said, reaching for the canvas I had stretched yesterday.  He was a simple man and the sloppy was sweet and the yellow flower was me and everything seemed to look up.

But what I wanted to say would never come out of my mouth.  Did you see the way the burnt grass lies idle underneath a thousand footprints?

Water is more important than the sun in the sky.  So I ran out into the rain.  And he lay idle.