The Painter

infinite stretch

I reach

 rub green through   Nature

trees on my

    fingertips

    color of our lungs

on rainy afternoons

    a lush world

blooms slow

like a    Lotus

     half-open

I wait

     planet of mud

 hands     outstretched

      to the blue

it pours

               leaves

are greener

     lost nights

I write

     places with

pumpkin purple

     horizons

and

  blood orange

      suns

      smeared ink

I erase

  blood blue

        stains

  on      page

        when the pen

     breaks

   I bleed     out