Untitled

How do you begin on an empty white page?

At the edge, by a corner, venturing further,

Toward an image that results,

In the spaces left untouched?

 

Your lines, do they wind and intertwine to find

The beginning of one and end of the other

Have become confused at the convergence of their paths

At the center of the canvas beneath the brush

 

Strokes of black and grey and silence, whispering hints

Of colors that are all the more vivid because they are not.

Appearing only when your mind lies to your eyes

Because it knows what is missing, and it desires to see.

 

How do you know when to stop?

If you aren’t sure whether the story is told,

Or have you become accustomed to being unfinished

And therefore content with being untitled