Portrait Poem by Steve Woodward

I could paint you in all of God’s colours
But not even the hands of the masters
Have the skill indeed
To capture your beauty
In canvas, clay or marbled stone.

You sit back to the frame
Sincere
And look on as if something most interesting
Has caught your attention over my shoulder
On some far off horizon in another room
You half smile and turn as if leaving
Or through indecision stay
To think upon trivial matters.

Shifting slightly. Each breath gentle
Your form takes shape like the tides
You appear on the tameless void
Like the myth of creation
The firmament softens, alike your face
And there you are, clear as day
Above me. Like Heaven.