The Painters Wife

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