She painted him a thousand years of faces, He left with her a copper in his stead, Wait did they a thousand years in places, And writ there was a contract of the dead. Take with him a thousand years of paintings, Drop did she the copper in a well, Wait did they a thousand years in patience, Until the moon in sky did swell. Now he waits a thousand years in places, Now she moves among the living dead, The painters wife, she took those faces, and dropped them
In your sleeping bed.
© copyright Eve Redwater 2011