The canvas,

(To my mother, Val)

​

The canvas,

clear and empty like the silence between the raindrops,

once you would stir your crazy mind,

take your brushes and pallet knives,

and fill that space with colour light and shade,

Now just the rain,

a jar of old brushes,

and an empty frame.

Between the raindrops,

I wish I could see your colours again.