Portrait of the Artist as My Husband

18 x 18


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Late at night, while he sleeps, I paint a picture of my husband. He signs my name on the changing face of the sea, his painting of my life uncontained by a frame.

Love of my life, love of your wife, if you are my clown--well, I am your circus. On the ladder of our love which your stout shoulder steadies, I'm an acrobat unafraid of falling; if I lose my head, I use my head as a juggling ball. May the little king of your heart celebrate forever the dominion of childhood on this planet of joy fragile as a balloon.

Like armor you wear the butterfly of freedom. Like a fool, not a farmer, cast seeds to creation. Where your fruitful boat journeys, we do not question. On the face of the clown, is the image of the the yet to be born.

I paint my husband. Yet this isn't my husband; late at night, while he sleeps, this is my dream.

Let him sign my painting; for the clown is me.