The Start

The Start

Getting the runs off in the can
In preparation for the task
He lifts his brush to stroke
The fence with white
Whiter than the edge line
Of the road before his house
So clean and smooth and straight
His mind’s eye is a fluttering
White ribbon of pure beauty
The fence immoveable and alone
Accepting the brush
Now directed and prepared
It makes the initial contact
And there is no turning back
It’s done.