The Window Sees the Mirror

In his garden, listening to the lark, painting his self-portrait

As an allegory of art, the artist loses his voice in the matter—

It’s a painting, not a dark wood. Artemnesia knew better,

And cast herself as a painter, because that is what she was.

The self is the guru. But the teacher is a thief, and there’s no

Arguing with the mirror. Every brushstroke, each line,

Takes something away from the formless before—But

The window is your witness. Let yourself be interpreted.