The painting started out as one crude sketch,
lines and proportions silly. All over the scenery,
smudge of trees and houses. There was form
and there was no form. Even the wind thwarted.
Galaxies like fireflies searing into the canvas,
the firmament incandescent. And big words
won’t convince the cypress, big words like stasis
and calligraphy. But dear sonnet, you must keep
this nightlight forever, until waves escape the ocean-
sky and that church spire levitates into the ether.
The artist came here to confront issues of the mind.
Within the asylum’s quiet, his strokes maneuver
into clarity, brilliance. Nowhere are his hands
not moving. And this untethered world responds.