there’s no way to know
for certain
what he saw
from that open window
one solitary night when he felt
moved enough to reach for his brushes
once again
so that this lone insight
could burst into life
through ten thousand swirls
and strokes of blue
upon blue punctuated
here and there with yellow
and white orbs of light
shining high
above some sleepy
town which only existed
in imagination.
face to face
with his stunning expression
of a deep longing
to live in a world that flows
and ebbs with the rhythm and harmony
of all that is good
and all that aspires to be
i’d like to think
that somewhere
his soul
can finally take rest
not so much in a fame
as fleeting as summer rain
but rather for doing his best
to convey a truth
deeper than words ever could
which resides far beyond
the dawning horizon.
