Today was a wish for escape from
half-baked promises and manufactured hopes,
release from the dark swan of ambition,
the devices we employ as we make our way.
In the depths of my wish, is a beating heart,
there, in its tight red center,
not desire for youth or future,
none of the contrivances of a public life,
just the strong sweet warmth of the private life –
the solitude of a landscape painting,
a single detached patron,
at closing time.