Vermeer van Delft
The light drew back,
reluctant to leave the colors.
I felt that reluctance.
The door handle moved.
Then SHE turned her head
A pearl glimmered.
It seemed someone passed through.
The pearl went dull.
I glanced at the easel...
I knew the brushes and paints were no more use.
The picture had died.
Without a whimper.
Killed by my delight.