Paintbrush (2004)

Fine bristles brush the canvas, wood, concrete
All by herself she’s free to be who she is
Alone with the strong smelling paints and horse hair bristles
Only here does she let her hair down
Without a comb in sight
Nothing to tame her wild spirit
And nothing to keep her hands
—Those soft, soft hands—
From creating her own masterpiece
That soft blues music, so perfect
Not too loud
Whispering in her ears, singing in beauty
Only sets her heart to be more
Express more
Feel more
To just be herself
To just be
Who she is
To just be
Free