Walk with me a few paces;
see how the mountains reveal their glory.
The early light drenched them, over
my numb fingers and hypothermic toes.
A young man calls after me,
his name is Michelangelo.
He painted the sky by hand,
and sculpted each cloud; remember his name.
Maple Tree Angel
I lift the curse off you
of feeling like your goals as an artist
are just out of reach,
somewhere with the paint and brushes.