A painting normally begins
when your breathing quickens with
excitement
the same as normally begins
my date with Margaret, when we meet again.
It's always like the first encounter.
White is the canvas with the feelings
hidden
and only blindly does my timid hand
touch her shoulder or her face.
And the traces which my hand has left
slowly swell and pock-like slightly itch,
like a question in the ears they hum.
The brush the daring fingers hold
suddenly fills the naked painting
with lines of mutual penetration,
and puts on signs of trust and calm.
Then parting with the finished painting,
I part with Margaret who is now asleep.
Amazed at wonders I've experienced -
white is the ground of empty canvas before
me.
May 23, 1995
on the train from Kiev to Prague
carriage 406
berth 12, the bottom
