Self Portrait

The paints and inks sit undisturbed
Displayed behind dusty frames and glass
In darkened rooms and marble halls
Where people without time blink at them like owls
And move on quickly to the next.

I walk up to a small engraving
And a miller’s comic face stares back
I lean in, my nose a millimeter from glass
That hasn’t been touched since the piece was hung.
I see a cloud of breath, and a guard stirs.

I am becoming the artist
Using my eyes I carve out the hair and hat,
Some shadows outline the nose, wrinkle clothes—
Not too much! Light must show through.
To shine on the small mouth and the chin, squared...

I bet he finished with the eyes
Wide, searching, amazed at his own talent.
His glance, captured forever, surprised
By all the people who walk by and for a moment,
Appreciate what he has created.