The yellowed light that fell
through the window cast shadows
that stretched to the corners
of the room.
The artist picked up his brush
and began to transfer the image
of the beauty that sat
stock-still in front of him.
The shadows grew, faded,
and grew again,
as light turned to darkness,
over and over, day after day.
Still the artist remained
in front of his canvas.
Still his subject remained
in her perfect pose.
When the painting was complete,
the artist stepped back to admire his work.
The painting seemed as if
it were full of life.
He told her she could get up now,
that she could come and see.
But she did not move
from the place she had held so long.
The artist looked closer.
Her chest no longer rose
and fell with her breath.
The girl was dead.
So consumed with his passion
and his pride, he lost a sense
of what was real and saw
only his painting.
As his subject faded away,
his painting grew richer.
His earlier observation was true.
The painting had captured her spirit.
