In
the midst of a painted picture I stood
The
painter before me only just beginning
Being
made of nothing, and as light as air
It
seemed I took up no space, nor paint; nor
Did
I appear to him who applied the brush
The
wonder of such a marvel made me listen
And
I heard the painter’s heartbeat at his touch
Hardly
daring now to see I glimpsed his brush
And
lightly down beside me felt the pale-green
And
all along my side felt the willow’s leaves
Swift
was the river, where it seemed I stood
It
was being painted all around me as I watched
And
down at my feet a fleeting fish swam by
In
tiny brushstrokes, a fly sent, on a rod and line
Till
the leaping trout was snared, and I was taken
*
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