your art

you love to paint,
to render
a landscape on a blank
canvas.
your easel set
up in the light.
your palette
dotted with reds
and blue,
a heavy tube
of lithium white.
you wait for
inspiration, staring
out the window
at the fullness
of trees, how
easy it is for them.
but you have no
talent,
your art is laughable
so when you finish,
you let them
dry
and hide the
canvasses behind
a door in
the basement.
this is not what
you were meant
to do, but that
doesn't stop you
from doing another.