Meditation On An Artist

He painted men with long beards and missing teeth,

bent women with canes,

lonely children walking through meadows

on their way back home.

By lamplight, he would study each shade,

each shadow of their lives

in the ramshackle cabin

he inherited from his father.

Sometimes he said he could feel them

guiding the brush,

hear their voices

singing to the starry night.

Ah, to hear him hum

when the shapes, colors, and moods on the canvas

captured a bit of what it means to be human,

all too human.