Some days it is merely pigments
greens and blues in speck and stroke,
one of hundreds,
yet
when the halls fill with faces
gasping, leering, wild-eyed
or solemn, when voices
pretend at intimacy with the subject,
the one who guards Water Lilies
looks at it, again,
sees it as a child might,
and discovers it a masterpiece.
The One Who Guards Water Lilies
