hanging on the long walls

of my ever growing gallery

my flawed masterpiece

- mine -

huddled amongst my other

frantic beauties

i peruse it with a sigh

at the time so painfully perfect

i see now

this line – that line –

out of place

and the colours dont seem

quite right – quite real enough –

to my eyes

i cannot stand too long

my other easels wait

a brief glance back

at the perfectly imperfect collection

- document of my evolving talent -

their colours fading too fast in the light

of the window in front of me